Taking On Water
by sansbear
Summary: A series of interludes and revelations concerning Bonnie, Damon, and their shifting perspectives of each other.
1. Purple Majesty

A/N: In which Damon and Bonnie get high. Another one of my Bamon free write interludes. I might be a Stefonnist, but I have to pay homage to my native ship. This might be a continued thing. Let me know if I should. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I disclaim any and all right to the Vampire Diaries franchise. I'd welcome stock options though.

"I've Been Looking At You Too Much"

Friday night used to be about keggers in the woods near the old church, late-night swimming at the Falls, football games against the rival town, pool and milkshakes at The Grille. That was before the picturesque simplicity of Mystic Falls exploded. That was before she regularly communed with the living dead. Bonnie vaguely remembers that time, Before. It seemed fantastical, much less real than the daily horror show in which she was but a player. She joked with Stefan and said the sweet transvestite should appear any second now. A quizzical look further creased his brow. Her eyes were on the verge of rolling when Damon called out, "This isn't the junior chamber of commerce, Brad!"

Perhaps that bit of pop cultural play formed the basis for a new recurring theme: partnership. It hit her quite all of a sudden as they were on a supply run. Bonnie relaxed against the door, eyes on Damon pillaging an industrial cooling unit full of blood instead of on the corridor. It was Friday and she was with Damon. She thought of a Friday when she wasn't. The date had a red circle around it. Three months ago. The Friday after Elena turned. He must have noticed her fidgeting because he turned and stared at her.

"You need to pee or something?"

"No."

"Then stop with the river dancing. It's not what your people do anyway."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me? Not what my people do?"

"You know, the Witch people," Damon said. A corner of his mouth formed a parenthesis.

Bonnie made a face at him. "Go back to leeching."

He turned his back but not before he grinned. She watched him fill Ruthie, the stainless steel portable blood mobile, and all the while a strange feeling began to simultaneously balloon in her stomach, chest, and brain. A silent alarm triggered in the unaffected parts of her brain. Bonnie peered down the corridor. A security guard along with two policemen holding shotguns came rushing down towards the room. Bonnie gave a low whistle. Damon grabbed a few random bags of blood and closed Ruthie. Bonnie went for the interior lab door. Damon grabbed her and shut them both in the supply closet as the officers burst in.

They spoke in harsh whispers.

"What the fuck?"

"There was no way we'd make it out that fucking door in the three seconds."

"And you couldn't, you know," Bonnie imitated a karate chop, "do that or," she gestured back and forth between her face and his, "the compulsion thing?"

Damon leaned forward. The action froze Bonnie. His eyes shone in the dark. "I can't compel someone if they've already pulled the trigger."

They stood a little too close. On any previous occasion they would jump apart and pretend the moment out of existence, but they remained in the moment, and their silent gazing was more audible than any words they thought to speak.

"This is a typical moment in a suspenseful romance. In any romance, actually," Bonnie said.

"Your breath stinks."

"And there it goes, ruined."

"I'm honest. What does my breath smell like?"

She inhaled a big whiff. "Rank."

"And that's reality, sweetheart. Now, what are we going to do about these idiots with guns?"

Bonnie shrugged. "I say let's just jump out the window."

"Agreed," Damon said.

Bonnie counted to five and threw open the door. The officers whirled around. Bonnie blew them back across the room. The crash was loud, and so was the shotgun blast that nearly took off her head. Damon dragged her to the windows, got a good grip on her and Ruthie, and jumped.

They landed in stride. Bonnie took Ruthie and put it in the backseat. Damon tossed her the keys. "I got a story to invent. Keep the car running."

Damon knocked on the driver window a minute later. She slid over as he got in behind the wheel. Bonnie frowned when he handed over the two shotguns.

"Let's do something," Damon said. He tapped the steering wheel.

Bonnie placed the guns on the backseat floor. "You mean aside from stealing blood, getting into a one-sided gun fight, and jumping ten stories," she said.

He started the car. "Do you really want to spend another Friday babysitting Elena?"

Bonnie thought about it. Typical Friday night procedure: they would return to the boarding house, and would Damon disappear to the cellar while Bonnie joined Stefan in Elenafretville. She'd fall asleep during one of Elena's lessons, or mediating another Salvatore argument. Just before 2 a.m. she'd wake up in one of the guest rooms and leave as quietly as possible in a house full of vampires. That was it. Not a hard choice.

"Something legal," Bonnie said.

"How about mostly legal?" Damon replied.

* * *

Bonnie held a quarter to the moon. "Look at that. I blotted it out."

"This is some good shit." He passed her the spoon. She blew fire and inhaled pleasant, acrid smoke. The coughing wasn't as terrible that time. His hand was warm as it patted the space between her shoulder blades.

"So…" Bonnie listened to her voice in the crisp air. It didn't belong to her. It was too smoky, too steady, so far away.

Damon looked over at her. He smiled. His teeth were blinding. Bonnie squinted.

"So what? Why are you squinting? Are you high right now?"

"Maybe. I feel detached. Like a loose sheet of paper. Like when you're ripping it along the perforated edge and you stop because your pen dropped or your friend asked you something."

Bonnie shook. "I'm rattling like a forgotten sheet of paper."

"No," Damon waved the spoon, "you're supposed to respond, 'Do you ever get nervous?' God, Bonnie, pull yourself together."

Bonnie crossed her legs at the ankle. She lifted her arms into the air then let them fall like feathers. She almost forgot what Damon said. The silence lapped around them.

"Do you ever get nervous?"

"Are we playing truth or dare?"

"No, no dare. Everything with you is a dare. No," Bonnie exhaled, "I say truth."

"Fine. I do get nervous. I'm nervous right now."

"Why?"

"Because nothing ever goes right. It always swerves left. Fucking always."

Damon packed the last quarter of Purple Majesty in the bowl. Bonnie leaned over to do her magic. They took a hit, ladies first. This time she didn't cough. His hand stayed put.

"Your breath was quite fragrant."

Bonnie gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you making a move? Because I'm impaired right now. It wouldn't count in the consent column."

"I'm impaired too. Drugs are bad for us too, but we didn't have D.A.R.E. to teach us any better," Damon said. He closed his eyes.

Bonnie turned her attention to the glitter dusted sky. The stars scintillated and the moon created a LED halo over the car. She listened to her breath go in and out. She varied the tempo. At one point she stopped breathing altogether but then thought it was a bad idea as she might forget to start again.

"Remember this time last year? You hated me."

Bonnie remembered. The statement seemed ridiculous when taken out of context. Hate was too abstract a word. A person could hate tomatoes but still like ketchup. A person could hate a song. She didn't hate Damon. She loathed him. Every opportunity to kill him had been obstructed by someone else's desire for his survival. Then the rules changed and here they were.

"Well I don't anymore."

The silence became heavy with all the possible directions from that one response. It could mean a variety of things. Bonnie was in the atmosphere, too above the earthly realm to consider the implications and complications of actually admitting she no longer "hated" her natural enemy. Damon was on terra firma, and he considered them all.

"Why not?"

Bonnie reached for the pipe. She smoked the rest before answering, "I gave up on it."

He opened his eyes and saw her there with light shining around her. It was the first time he qualified her beauty. It was the first time he saw a woman and didn't compare her to the torch or judge whether to fuck, kill, or ruin. He thought of kissing her, just to see if it would align with this new image, but the woods waved their collective limbs in warning.

Damon folded an arm under his head and crossed his legs at the ankles. The gentle waves rocked him to the first sleep in months. Bonnie nudged him. His face fell towards her. She turned on her side and examined each part of it. She preferred Stefan's but there was something startling about it when reposed. It was open, completely approachable, an inviting corner where you can read and drink an iced coffee and have a conversation. And with the radiating moon, it had allure. So much so Bonnie put her hand on his cheek. She ran the back of her hand down along the side of his face. She smoothed an eyebrow, touched the pad of a finger against the pad of his lips. She took her hand away and stared at him until her eyelids refused to support themselves.

Friday passed into Saturday with Damon and Bonnie asleep on the hood of the car, a cooler full of blood and two shotguns in the backseat.

* * *

F.Y.I: "Wildest Moments" by Jessie Ware was the inspiration and fuel for this short, and for the subtitle.


	2. B Team

**A/N**: In which Damon and Bonnie get defensive. The reviewers have spoken. Free write interlude #2, in which Bonnie and Damon get defensive. Enjoy.

She's a loser. Maybe.

Morning came with dew. Bonnie woke with her head leaning on car door, wind brushing her face. She stretched and sat up as the car rolled into the parking lot of café. Damon compelled the cook to make her a bacon cheeseburger while he had a Bloody Mary. They shared a plate of Liege waffles. Bonnie paid for the meal. When they were ten miles from Mystic Falls, Damon called the boarding house. His voice turned soft as he spoke to Elena, reassuring her while telling her nothing. Bonnie listened and took her cue. All must be forgotten.

And it was. For a week. No one seemed to notice or pretended not to notice. Everything was as fucked up as it ever was. Bonnie studied the craft, hung out with Jeremy and Matt, commiserated with Elena, coordinated possible POAs with Stefan, avoided Caroline and Tyler, tolerated Damon. She stopped trying to contact Abby, as that relationship was nothing more than biological. She struggled a bit on Wednesday. Stefan wanted to track down Rebekah for the ostensible reason of vengeance, and she had to cast a search spell requiring human blood. It was the third time using dark magic in as many months, and it felt good. Toe curling good. So good she lost track of the spell mid casting and ended up finding Elijah. After, at home in her room, she panicked. She had gained access to a power source that didn't beget nosebleeds and blackouts. And at least then she knew the payment. But dark magic had a higher price. She shut herself up on Wednesday trying to reconcile the supposed cost with the necessity.

Friday came. Unexpected giddiness had her jogging up the steps to the Salvatore door. She rang the bell. Elena appeared with a grin.

"You're early," she said. She stepped aside to let Bonnie inside.

"We have to drive farther."

"Or bring a bigger cooler."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. To say that Vampire Elena was less understanding would be a sever understatement. The tradeoff had its perks. Elena no longer hid her demands in soft words and expectations of virtues like loyalty and patience. The guilt that accompanied hard-pressed denial occurred less often. For instance, Bonnie would have apologized after taking in the situation were Elena human. Instead she got to say what she wanted, however she wanted.

"Or maybe you could learn moderation. But that would be asking too much."

Bonnie walked to the staircase. "Damon! Move your ass!"

Damon came jogging down the stairs. He had on sweats and a pullover. Bonnie motioned to his outfit. "What is this?"

"My comfortable clothes," Damon said.

He jingled keys at her. "We're wasting time. You can admire me in the car."

"Admire what? You look sloppy as hell."

Damon gave her a look. Bonnie sighed. They left the house. Elena stood by the doorway. She watched Bonnie slide into the passenger seat. Damon said something and Bonnie laughed. The car started. Damon honked once and sped off down the pebbled drive. Elena raised a hand until the taillights disappeared. Her wave curled into a fist.

* * *

Damon pulled into the stadium parking lot. The flood lights were still on from the night's earlier game.

"I thought we would do something different tonight," Damon said.

"I guess I have to remind you," Bonnie said. She turned towards him. "You and I have an arrangement where we steal blood to feed my friend, your eternal flame, Elena. Outside of that arrangement, we do not associate. So unless there's a blood rally going on at the field, there is no different."

Damon pouted. It made him utterly ridiculous. "I'll make it worth your while."

Bonnie looked intently at his face. "You are a grown man, you know that?"

Damon grinned. He reached behind him and lifted a black cloth sack. "Come on," he said.

He led her onto the field. Bonnie examined the area with a suspicious eye. Damon whistled and she faced him. Her heart froze.

Damon had a shotgun leveled at her chest. He smiled.

Bonnie didn't even think. She sent Damon to his knees in seconds. While he writhed on the grass she snatched the gun from his weakened grasp. Next to his body was a case of shells. She picked up shell. It was made out of wood. She sniffed it. Vervain.

Bonnie stepped back a few yards before stepping off the trigger. Damon staggered to his feet, swayed, then shook himself hard. Bonnie rested the gun stock against her hip.

"I disarmed you in fifteen seconds."

"As a zombie."

Bonnie shrugged. "So is this what you had in mind?" She shot him in the knee. Damon suppressed a yelp as the crack of the blast echoed through the air.

"If you wanted me to shoot you, we could have done this in a less conspicuous place. Like the woods. Or my house," Bonnie said.

Damon dug the bullet out and threw it in the box with the other wooden shells. "Is that an invitation?"

Bonnie pointed at his knee. "That was a wooden bullet soaked in vervain. How—?"

"Alaric has me on a strict regimen of pain. If I'm going to be the monster asshole everyone thinks I am, I have to fit the bill."

"And that explains the wide open torture session?"

"I figured I'd make it a two-for-one torture session," Damon rolled his neck. "You see, I know all about your nosebleeds. And that's no bueno for the B Team."

Bonnie twisted her mouth in annoyance. Jeremy and his damn mouth. She leveled the gun at his other knee. She wanted to shoot but she probably had a bullet left. In the time it would take her to reload, Damon would be on her. What a shit way to spend a Friday night. Might as well make it count.

"I'm listening," Bonnie said.

"I need endurance training. You need practice in witchy multitasking. It's not as terrible as it sounds," Damon said. He sped backwards to the end of the field.

"Can you hear me?"

Bonnie nodded. "Like a mosquito in my ear."

"Perfect." Damon flashed her a grin. "Now to the reason we're here. I'm going to try to push you to the end zone. You have to stop me with whatever means available to you, excluding fire," he added when he saw her smile, "while you muzzle the sound of our play."

"This sounds like more of a test of my endurance than yours," Bonnie replied.

"Oh, to be young and naïve," Damon said. He jumped in place. "You ready?"

"Wait, if this is a game, we have to have conditions, time frames, rewards."

"Okay. No fire, first sign of witch blood we stop, five minutes of gameplay, and if you win, you're off blood duty so you can be a teenager and blah blah blah. I win, we attach a clause of my choosing to that arrangement."

"Too vague."

"I'm being generous."

"I can walk away."

Damon smiled. "You can but you won't. You're bored!"

It nauseated her how often he was right.

"Fine. On three," Bonnie said. She grabbed a handful of shells and stuffed them in her jean pocket. She reloaded the gun. She didn't know a noise cancelling spell, but there was one that created something of a force field within a designated perimeter. Aside from the noise, there was the visibility issue. How many things did he want her to do in addition to trying to kill him?

"One," Damon called.

Bonnie raised the gun. Wait until he got close. Conserve the bullets. Remember that vampires jumped and ran higher and faster than a human girl, even one with the power of nature at her back.

"Two."

Damon's blue eyes disappeared into a swell of crimson. Bonnie curled her finger around the trigger. Do not aim at his heart. Do not aim at his heart.

"Three."

Damon rushed across the field. Bonnie held her ground. "Do not aim at his heart," she whispered.

He appeared in front of her before she was even aware of it. The gun went off. The sound ricocheted off the bones of her brain. Damon fell to the ground but was up and snarling in seconds. Bonnie staggered back. She fired again, into his stomach. He grunted but kept advancing. She reloaded and fired but he caught the bullets.

Bonnie tossed the gun aside. A barrage of aneurysms rocked Damon off his feet. She increased the frequency. Another thirty seconds and he'd give up. A wave of disorientation hit her. She watched as Damon crawled forward. He struggled to one knee, fell back, then fought against the incessant attack to stand. The disorientation turned to cold fear when Bonnie saw his dark eyes fix on her.

It wasn't impossible. Katherine did it. But she was old. Damon took a couple quick steps before Bonnie blew him back thirty yards. Metal tinged the air. The back of her throat was thick. There was too much going on. She needed to conserve. Damon rushed her again but instead of a turning his brain into strawberry syrup, she tossed him clear across the field, into the goal posts.

Damon had a minute left. Bonnie reached for the gun just as Damon collided into her. They went tumbling. Bonnie tried to propel him off but he had her too tight, and she flew with him. They battled, locked in a literal power struggle. He edged her towards the white line. She made a finally play. She drew on his power, fused it with her own, and they broke apart in an violent combustion of air, grass, and earth.

Bonnie stirred and looked up. Her hand rested on the white line. She won. Damon was on his back yards away, one leg propped up. Bonnie made her way over to him. He had on a rueful grin. There was dirt on his face and his pullover and sweats were ripped. Bonnie laid next him. They breathed in unison. For all the effort and despite the fact she'd have to pay for it tomorrow, Bonnie felt exhilarated. She fought a vampire and won.

The floodlights shut off. The darkness swept over them like a cover.

"Fuck me, you're one formidable witch," Damon said.

"You were okay." Bonnie looked over at him. His profile stood out in the dark. Last Friday she got high and had a great night just being. Tonight she had a great night kicking ass. Damon was the common factor. Him and their arrangement.

"I was okay," Damon repeated. "I pushed through your brain bombs. I think that qualifies me for a good, possibly a great."

Bonnie let the silence stretch. She stared up at the stars. Damon was an arm's length away. He's been closer, but not as close as tonight.

"You beat me, so I guess that does qualify you as good."

Damon lifted his head to glance at her. "Really?"

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Don't get too excited. If fire was allowed, you'd be screaming mercy five seconds in."

He continued to stare at her. Bonnie sat up to dislodge his eyes from her face.

"I didn't even have a speech prepared," Damon said. Bonnie relaxed. They sat there for another minute. Damon got up first to retrieve the gun and bullets. Bonnie stood up when he was done. They walked back to the car, got in, and drove back to the boarding house.

Bonnie spent the night in the guest room. She slept facing the door, wondering about things she never thought to wonder.


	3. Yardwork

**A/N**: In which Bonnie and Damon draft that clause. Thank you guys for the reviews. Enjoy.

The Universe Cares.

No one was home, as usual. She hated the silence inside. It pronounced her thoughts and amplified her loneliness. She came outside and saw the lawn overgrown and covered in dead leaves. She spent the morning raking and mowing. It felt good to work in the cold air. The sun hid behind gray clouds. It would rain later, forcing her indoors.

Bonnie finished her work as the first droplets of rain came. She stowed the lawn tools in the shed and ran up the steps to the door. A sense of melancholy stilled her hand on the knob. She looked through the paneled glass of the door frame. It was dark. The foyer and hall leading to the kitchen were neat. One pair of snow boots stood at the foot of the stairs. A scarf and a coat hung on the hook. Bonnie stepped back. It was a stranger's house.

She sank onto the cushioned porch swing. The rain fell in gray strands. A brown leaf drifted across the floor. Bonnie continued its movement until it landed in her palm. She turned it over and over and over. It was more than a brown leaf. There were shades of gold and red and orange. The stem still had some flexibility. Its green life was in there, somewhere. Bonnie drew it out slow. The regeneration of a living thing was a meticulous and painstaking process. Even for something as little as a leaf. She heard her grandmother's voice. _A witch must respect the boundaries of nature. Do not transform. Heal. Replenish. Follow the symmetry of the lines. Let go of what you think it should be and let it become what it is, what it once was, what it wants to be again. _

A smooth, waxy green leaf rested in her palm. The stem was supple. Bonnie set the leaf on the armrest. Moments like this, with the leaf, made her grateful for her gift. And made her miss her grandmother. The loneliness sharpened. She blew on the leaf. It lifted and traveled out into the rain. She sent it out, to find someone who would needed a bit of green in their life.

The phone rang in the house, but Bonnie remained outside. No one called except for the last resort spell. She was tired of expending herself for causes she half-believed in. The guilt came immediately and Bonnie almost left the swing, but her body resumed its repose. This was her time.

Bonnie watched the rain. The light grew dimmer and the rain fell at a heavier slant. Her mind turned to school, then college, then to friends. She thought of Elena at the the manor, playing her games. They hadn't spoken in a week. The fight they had was one of the more memorable ones, if not the most. Bonnie took to heart the accusations Elena launched at her, and she meant the comparison she hurled back. It wasn't fair, none of it. Bonnie never imagined, after the deaths and the transformations, that the one thing tearing them apart would be an asshole named Damon.

But that was the problem. Somehow, without Bonnie even noticing, Damon became less of an asshole and more of a complication. She looked forward to seeing him. To talking to him. To doing stupid things like defense training and going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show and breaking into carnivals after hours. Maybe she should have shared those experiences with her best friend. Maybe she should have treated it less like a secret. Maybe she shouldn't care so fucking much. But she did care. She wasn't willing to exchange Elena, however batshit crazy she became, for Damon. She also didn't see how that could be a possibility, and why Elena turned into a jealous monster with raging denial issues.

Elena had nothing to worry about. All of Bonnie's relationships revolved around her. Whatever existed between Damon and Bonnie was due to Elena. Not mutual attraction or affection. None of that. Never. That could never be.

Bonnie suddenly missed the leaf. It was her bit of green and she had to think of someone else.

There was a crack of lightning. Thunder followed. Bonnie sighed. She got up and stretched, her eyes unfocused on the street. She stopped and stared.

A familiar blue Camaro parked in front of the house. Damon got out, paused when he saw her, then jogged up the sidewalk to the porch steps. Bonnie met him by the door. His hair hung in wet strands in his face. He appeared to be irritated. He scowled at her, his blue eyes like bits of glass.

"Why aren't you answering your phone?"

"I was away from it. What's going on? Vampire hunter stuff?"

"Yes," Damon shook his head, "No. I need to talk to you."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "If this is about-"

"It's not about Elena or about vampires or witches or the rest of the supernatural pantheon. I need to talk to you because," Damon looked at her. He ran a hand through his hair.

"I need to know if this is a mutual thing. Because it just occurred to me that it might not be. Your generation is adept at lying and doing whatever it takes to just get through it. So I need to know if that's what you're doing."

Her mouth went dry. There was rain and a guy on her doorstep, asking...Bonnie wasn't sure what he was asking. This evasive questioning was unlike him. She decided to save him.

"If you're asking me if I like you, I do. We've become friends."

"Don't do that. It's such an Elena-ism, it makes me nauseous. We're not fucking friends. Not now, anyway."

"Well I don't know what you want me to say."

"Tell me you're attracted to me. Tell me all those moments mean something. Tell me so I can stop wondering about you."

His voice got soft and warm and so earnest it was as if he had her hands. Bonnie tried to be appalled, or at least confused, but it tired her out. The universal determination to make her life miserable had come to a head. She might as well give in and avoid more damage.

Bonnie gestured towards him. "I wanted to kiss you in the funhouse. But I didn't. Because it's weird. You have to see how weird this is," she said.

Damon nodded. He took a step forward. "It is weird. It is strange and it is improbable and we are insane. But I wanted to kiss you in that storage closet. And when we got high. And in the funhouse. So we're going to have to find a way to deal with this weirdness."

Bonnie didn't say anything. Damon stood close enough to bring closer. If she did this, it meant drowning. It meant letting the water into her lungs and sinking into depths murky and unknown. It meant letting it go. Letting all of it go.

Bonnie inhaled and leaned up to his lips. Damon caught her up and they kissed. She was wrong. She didn't drown. She breathed in fire.


	4. Barbire

**A/N**: In which Bonnie and Damon share some pie. You guys are so lucky "Can't Make You Love Me" by Bon Iver didn't heavily impact this short. Read! Review! Enjoy!

Concentrate, Will Robinson

Bonnie insisted on keeping up appearances. More for her benefit than anyone else. Damon argued, but what could he say? He had the girl he wanted when he wanted her. Bonnie found it easy to pretend to be ignorant of him, even when Damon pressed a kiss to her lips when they were the last to leave the room or when he quirked his lips as she yelled at him for putting them in danger. Again.

And when they were alone...Bonnie found it hard to concentrate. He was intense, Bonnie knew he would be, but she didn't know she'd match that intensity. She hated to see those girls who needed to touch and be touched. The guy always had a hand on her ass or on the back of her neck or ran his fingers up and down her arm-these displays disturbed Bonnie. And then Damon would ring the doorbell late Saturday night and would grab a handful of cheek as hello. He would kiss her mouth and face and neck until her skin burned, until her hands pushed off his jacket and shirt and drew him into the living room. They would spend hours rolling around on the couch, skin on skin, exploring the little hotspots.

For instance, it could go from heavy petting to plain heavy if she ran her teeth along his skin, or if Damon ran a circular track around her legs. In fact, anything Damon did with his hands spelled trouble. He had the peculiar ability to get her naked down to her underwear before she took control. Damon left her buzzing. He left her tender. It was terrible. Before all the handsy stuff the attraction was manageable. She didn't dream of fucking him senseless before that afternoon in the rain. Now she heard his voice, be it across a crowded room or in her ear, and it was all she could do to not.

A solid week of Damon nightcaps and Bonnie was frazzled. The illusion of indifference started to waver. She caught herself staring at his lips in front of Elena and Stefan. She had to fight to keep the softness out of his name when in public. Elena began to send her looks. Caroline even orchestrated a run-in on the pretense of test notes.

"Hey, did you happen to get those notes on fungi?" Caroline asked.

Bonnie looked from behind her locker door. Caroline held a binder loosely to her chest. Bonnie frowned. "Uh, no. Did we cover that today?"

Caroline nodded. "We did. For the entire class. Fungi will be on the test," she said. Her smile fell into ungainly territory. The silence stretched into an awkwardness Bonnie hadn't felt since Caroline turned.

"Do you want to talk about something or..." Bonnie trailed off.

Caroline shook her head. "No, I have nothing to say except...if you want my notes...you can..." Caroline sighed. "Look, Bonnie, I know we haven't been biffles since that Freaky Friday shit you pulled with Tyler and Klaus, but if you need to talk to someone, talk to me."

"I'm fine, Caroline. I appreciate the olive branch." Bonnie turned into the traffic of exiting kids. Caroline followed.

"You're distracted. Since when do I have notes that you don't have? It's morbid. It's a symptom of something," Caroline said. She hustled Bonnie into the nearest classroom.

"Oh my God, you are fundamentally screwed up! You cannot just talk to me after the longest freeze-out in history and expect me to confide all of my deep, dark secrets," Bonnie said, "and you cannot use your freakish vampire strength to force me to talk."

Caroline pointed at her. "So you do have deep dark secrets. I knew it. I bet this is about a guy."

"No guy, no secrets. I'm just stressed out. I can be stressed out."

Caroline considered her for a moment. She smiled, opened her binder, and handed Bonnie a sheet of paper.

"A lot of shit has happened to us. A lot. And I know it's been hard, with Elena, and Jeremy, and everything, but don't rush into something, okay? Just because he might make you feel like a Rihanna song and Christmas and a thousand sparklers every second for the hour you're together, doesn't mean it might always be that way."

Bonnie stared at the fungi notes. She twisted her mouth into a line of grudging gratitude. "Thanks for the notes."

* * *

Bonnie worked off her nervous energy by writing two essays, finishing a math study guide, and organizing her wardrobe and chest of drawers. She scrubbed her bathroom until her nose got stuffy from the bleach. She vacuumed the landing and stairs, dusted the picture frames and polished the wooden tables and pieces in the living room. She even baked a strawberry pie, from scratch. The oven clock blinked at her as she hovered over it. 2:17 a.m.

She left her cell phone on her bed. The ringtone volume was set to maximum. She had hoped he would call or text or send up a flare or something. Bonnie checked the pie before the timer went off. She left it to cool on the counter top. She went to the freezer and frowned at the half pint of vanilla ice cream. This was not happening. She was not considering eating pie a la mode, by herself, at two something in the morning.

"Something save me," Bonnie said into the freezer.

A soft knock came from the side door off the kitchen. Bonnie knew that knock.

Damon leaned against the door frame. He had an arm half-hidden and a smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes. Bonnie raised an eyebrow.

"Don't think I stayed awake waiting for you," Bonnie said.

The smile made it to his eyes this time. "Of course you didn't," Damon said.

He leaned forward but she moved inside. She went to the counter, heard her heart beating like a drum. Felt it more like.

"What's wrong with you?"

Bonnie whirled around. Damon sat on the edge of the kitchen table. He had a bottle of something sitting next to him. "I lifted this Rosé from a garden party." Damon read the label. "I bet this'll taste good with that strawberry pie you didn't bake."

She sighed at him. Her eyes were wide and her leg shook. It didn't hit her until she saw him. This wasn't going to work. She wanted him so badly her stomach hurt, but the bleach and the dusting and vacuuming knocked something loose or into place. She didn't want some dramatic scene. Observing Damon sitting on the table, the bottle resting on one knee and his eyes narrowing on her face, Bonnie knew she might as well wish for a unicorn.

"If you're angry with me-"

Bonnie interrupted him. "I'm not angry with you. I've got a lot on my mind."

"Somewhere in the early 1900s I considered becoming a psychoanalyst. Took a few courses and everything," Damon said.

Bonnie grinned. "You? A vampire therapist?"

Damon slid off the table."I'm very good. I have a wide range of techniques. From the talking cure to," he paused as he stood before her, "physical therapy."

"Does that include staring deeply into some girl's eyes and compelling her to better health?"

"Why does none of my lines work on you?"

"Because I'm not interested in classic Damon," Bonnie said. She turned and took the pie to the table. Next she went to the freezer for the ice cream. She got two spoons and set them next to the pie."You sit there," Bonnie pointed to the stool farthest from her. "And I'll stay here. We're going to talk."

Damon gave her another narrow glance. They sat at opposite ends of the table, pie between them.

"Is this a 'I'm having reservations' talk? Because those don't go so well with me," Damon said.

"Caroline knows," Bonnie said. She scooped out a spoonful of pie and ate it. Damon shrugged. He ate a spoonful of ice cream.

"Barbire exists on gossip and blood. Of course she knows. So what?"

"I don't expect you to understand since you and Stefan like having the same taste in women, but I can't have the same taste in guys as my best friends. Do you know how strange that conversation will be?" Bonnie waved her spoon. "Oh, hey, how was that make-out sesh with Damon? He did that tongue thing? Yeah, it was my favorite thing too. Oh, yours too, Elena?"

"Ah, so it's the tongue thing, huh?" Damon said. Bonnie pursed her lips. He started to laugh. It made her like him even more.

"I'm being serious. And honest. I like you. But I don't think-"

Damon was next to her in a second. He took the spoon out of her hand and set it on the table. "You don't think it's a good idea because I slept with Caroline."

"You fed on her, used her, and would have killed her if not for Stefan," Bonnie said.

"Again, because I slept with Caroline," Damon said. He trailed her fingers down her arm. Goose bumps rose. Bonnie flushed.

"But that's not it, is it? There's more," he moved behind her. He ran his hands over her exposed shoulders, then dropped a kiss where his hands had been. Bonnie inhaled sharply.

"I can't think properly when you do that."

"I know," Damon said.

"I'm still unsure about..."

Damon turned her around and kissed her. Bonnie had tasted a variety of Damon kisses, but none of them could be described as sweet. She tasted the vanilla, and beneath that wine, and then him. He lapped in her mouth, teased her lips, made her moan once or twice. His knuckled brushed her stomach. Her fingers curled around the front of his leather jacket.

Bonnie drifted down to her feet with vanilla and wine still on her lips. Damon pressed his forehead into shoulder.

"Don't think, Bonnie. Don't judge it. Just," Damon breathed against her skin, "just let us be here, in whatever moment we happen to be in."

Bonnie lifted his head. She stared at him for a moment. It wasn't going to work, but she wasn't searching for something lasting. Neither was he, at least not with her. All that mattered was the moment.

"I'm not going to eat this pie by myself," Bonnie said.


	5. Carnies

**A/N**: In which Bonnie and Damon go to the fair. Thanks for the reviews; they are as sweet as honey. Enjoy.

Mazes Can't Hold Her

"Psst."

Bonnie slapped the side of her ear. The sting yanked her out of her sleep. Bleary-eyed, she sat up and groped for the light. A warm, dry hand prevented her from switching on the light. Bonnie frowned in his general direction.

"It's too early to bother me."

"Never," Damon said. He tossed some clothes at her. "Get up. We're going out."

Bonnie threw the clothes away and turned on her side. "Why?"

"Why else? Because it's midnight and you're the only sourpatch over the age of fifteen in bed."

The bed began to shake. Bonnie fought hard not to be amused. She used the kernel of irritation at being awake as a defense against this strange demonstration of lightness.

"So? Take Elena or the one other friend you have and go out. I'm busy trying to sleep."

The bed stopped shaking. The room felt suddenly empty. Bonnie looked to see if he had gone when a wall of white cotton surrounded her on all sides. She kicked but Damon had scooped up the bedsheets into a sack and hefted her over his shoulder.

"Damon! What the fuck!" Bonnie twisted, kicked, punched. She was about to use the aneurysm trick when he said, "Do it and I'll trip down these stairs and your head will bust open like a bad egg."

"Elena! Stefan!" Bonnie called. Damon only laughed.

He dropped her on the sharp gravel of the driveway. Bonnie scrambled out of the mess of sheets and blankets. She glared at him. Damon tossed her a pullover, a pair of jeans, socks, and some boots.

"I like the cami and booty shorts, but practical wear is best for what we're doing tonight."

Bonnie just stared at him. She had given up trying to understand what it was that compelled him to take her on his late night gallivants. But kidnapping? Damon stooped to pick up the sheets and toss them in the back of the car. He went to the driver's side.

"You coming?"

Bonnie looked up to the sky with a sigh. One of these days, when she regained her common sense, the answer would be a resounding no. But that day was far away.

She dressed in the backseat and climbed into the front when done. They passed the sign for the highway and Bonnie shot him a look.

"What are we doing?"

"We're going to the fair."

Bonnie sat back. "I think our lives are carnie enough, thanks."

"You're in the car already, sourpatch. Just face it," he grinned at her, "you love these little jaunts. They excite you."

Bonnie put her hood up. They did. She recalled the slight disappointment when they returned with a full Ruthie and Damon promptly left. She got stuck with Elena duty, and then Elena and Stefan went out into the woods to hunt Thumper or whatever. So she read, watched television, and went to bed. That was her Friday.

The trees whizzed by in one dark blur. Bonnie rolled down the window. Cold air whipped her face. She closed her eyes. This was her Saturday. Damon nudged her. He motioned for her to hold the wheel. Bonnie steered while he put down the top, his body brushing and flexing against hers. She swerved a few times, much to Damon's glee. The wind was everywhere. The scent of pine and sharp cold filled her nostrils. And his cologne, which she liked.

"Wanna drive?"

She looked into his blue eyes for a moment. "Yes," she said.

They moved their bodies. Bonnie slid halfway onto his lap. She straddled one of his legs as she tried to find the gas pedal. They laughed when the car shot forward, then Damon cursed when he bumped the gear shift.

Bonnie settled behind the steering wheel. Damon let his arm trail along the back of the seat. She glanced at him. His face changed into his normal mischievous smirk but she caught something much more solemn and contemplative. It made her stomach twist into a thousand bows. Damon tugged down her hood. The hair tie went with it. Her hair went wild in the wind, a living thing. His eyes gleamed in the dark. Bonnie kept her eyes ahead and directed the car south.

* * *

Damon directed her to the fairgrounds. It was on a vacant lot behind a church. Bonnie pulled up around the back, near a few parked trailers. Damon sat up and listened for a full minute.

"It's all dark. We're good to proceed, Sourpatch."

Bonnie nodded. "10-4, Asshat."

They left the car and stepped onto the fairgrounds. The rides seemed larger powered down. The Ferris wheel stood above it all, a giant inert wheel against a black sky. She turned to Damon but found herself alone.

"Damon?" Bonnie hissed.

A sharp crack of electricity anticipated the loud whir of a dozen motors starting at once. Soft, pale light washed over the grounds. Multicolored bulbs shone in the distance, and light strips on all the rides twinkled. Bonnie crouched behind the nearest booth. Her heart pounded. Cold sweat broke out along her lower back.

Dusty brown boots stopped before her. Bonnie looked up. Damon peered down at her, an eyebrow quirked. He held out a bag of popcorn. "Kettle Corn?"

Bonnie shoved his hand away. "Are you out of your fucking mind? We trespass on private property and you turn on the damn lights and want to eat popcorn?"

Damon helped her up anyway. "Not trespassing if you pay for it."

Bonnie shook her head. "But the sneaking-"

"I just like to see you stroke out. Consider it an added bonus."

Bonnie reached for the proffered popcorn. "An added bonus to what?"

"I'm not sure yet," Damon said. He nodded towards the Gravitron. "Come on. We'll take a spin."

As it turned out, Damon hired two workers to man whatever ride he wanted. Bonnie got over her initial suspicion that it was a date when he asked her which stuffed animal Elena wouldn't give to the local thrift shop. She said she didn't know. Elena wasn't a stuffed animals kind of girl.

"You're telling me Elena has never had a pile of fluffy wuffies?"

"She had some, but we made crazy ass animal hybrids and gave them to little sick kids." Bonnie smiled at the memory. "We scared the shit out of some of those kids. Imagine pulling out snionphantird with dyed red stuffing coming out of the stitching."

They climbed the stairs to a suspect roller coaster. Bonnie slid into a car. Damon sat next to her and pulled down the lap bar.

"And here I thought you guys collected Lisa Frank binders and Carebear pencils and used glitter glue on cards."

"No, that was Caroline. We were what our parents called 'precocious'."

Damon chuckled. Bonnie thought about that sound for the entire bumpy, spine-jarring ride. She thought about it as their bodies leaned together during sharp turns and rose together speeding over hills. She thought about it as her own laugh rang out, how it filled in the night.

They rode the coaster twice. Bonnie felt dizzy so they walked to the open booths. She watched Damon systematically win at every game. Every hit, shot, and swing hit its target one hundred percent of the time. Bonnie expected him to brag but he kept silent. She realized he wasn't trying to win. There was nothing unfair about being precise and accurate in his movements. He was a vampire, just as she was human.

Bonnie helped him dump all the prizes in a large plastic bag. Damon slung it over his shoulder. They ate cotton candy and Damon told her the history of carnivals. None of what he said she believed, but she listened and nodded and asked serious questions. The Ferris wheel loomed above them all of a sudden.

"I hate this thing," Damon said.

"Me too," Bonnie said.

"What's your reason?"

"You can get stuck before you even reach the top, and when you do, it's over before you can really take it all in."

"True."

"What's your reason?"

"It's the only ride that stands as a symbol for romantic faith. You get on with the girl or guy, complete the revolution, get a little lucky at the apex, and get off holding hands and high. But some cheat. Some just jump right to the top with the girl."

Bonnie glanced at him. Elena told her about Stefan's romantic gesture the night of the fair. Either Damon heard or Stefan said something or Damon had stalked them. The way he spoke, she went with the last possibility. He stared at the wheel as if it were the answer key to the Elena problem. His eyes met hers.

"I saw a fun house over there somewhere," Bonnie said. She crossed in front of him. She didn't look back to see if he followed.

Dark amber light illuminated the inside of the funhouse. Bonnie saw herself from all angles all at once. It disoriented her until she heard his step. She darted left, twirled, and found herself in a maze of warped mirrors.

"Bonnie?"

"Aqui."

"Mazes aren't my forte."

"Really? And here I thought the world and everything in it was your forte."

There was a sharp curse as a thump shook the wall to her left. Bonnie grinned. "Think of this as a training exercise. Vampire hunters have you trapped in a house. It's morning and they took your day ring. You're weak from vervain. How do you get out alive and in a timely manner?"

"I call the cavalry."

Bonnie studied the range of mirrors. She went right and entered a tight room of undulating glass. Her reflection shimmered and buckled. She turned as the dull thud of an extra panel slid into place, cutting off her exit route.

"The cavalry is held up. The hunters are moving in."

"I call you."

Bonnie stopped short. The lights burned out as the floor gave out. She screamed as she fell into darkness. The fall was a few feet, and there was crude cushion to soften the landing, but the event left her stunned. She groped around for a grip. Her hands slid over smooth bumps of coolness. Glass. Bonnie stood and followed the wall. The room curved into a circle. She made three revolutions before stepping back and calling out.

"Hello? Damon?"

A cold hand brushed her own. Bonnie jerked back but the hand held her fast. She swung, her fist colliding with a smack against a hard palm.

"Relax," Damon said.

Bonnie exhaled. "You're an asshole. Did you set this shit up?"

"No. I don't like mazes. And I don't like tumbling down shoots, either." Damon let one hand go but held her fist. "You have a light?"

Bonnie focused a bit. She eased her hand from him and blew into her cupped fingers. A small flame danced in the air. She looked up.

The flame lit his face like no light ever did. It startled her, distracted her. Her mouth went dry as his eyes, so vivid a pale blue, roamed over her face. She looked at his lips, at the shadows deepening between his parted lips, and inhaled. They were a foot apart, then half a foot, then inches, then centimeters. His cologne filtered into her lungs. Bonnie was on her toes and Damon had his head tilted to the side when the amber lights flickered on.

The flame flickered out.


	6. A Magnificent Kill

**A/N**: In which Damon goes poaching. Oy vey, guys, it's been awhile. Well, this chapter is a strange one. Bonnie and Damon are a hard couple to write. I want them to know happiness, but they are two very isolated, very complex people that must pass through all sorts of tribulations to grasp it and hold onto it. I don't know where it goes from here, but enjoy.

Do Anything

Damon waited. He obtained several newspapers from the town bookstore, sat in the coffee shop across the street, and read. He sipped a strong blend of black and rooibos tea and ate a container of apricot shortbread cookies. Every time he bit into one, he thought of Bonnie. And every time he thought of Bonnie, he settled further into this waiting game. He finished the newspapers and the tea and cookies as the clock struck noon. It was a bright Fall day, crisp. As a being who lived well beyond his expiration date, Damon had come to appreciate days with definition. He savored them. Fall, with its amber twilight and halcyon afternoons, was his favorite season. The leaves falling in variegated shades of red, gold, and orange; the smell of winter ripening; the sense of abiding.

He walked to Carl's Mecha, a body shop located at the end of Main and Vine. He chatted with Carl as he swiped his credit card. Four thousand dollars and a business card later, Damon drove his now fully renovated 1962 Ghia down Main towards the old Wickery Bridge. The scowl on Stefan's face when he parked the Ghia next to that cherry cliche...Damon smiled. His smile grew as he imagined a beautiful girl pressed against the cream leather seats. But what girl? His smile dimmed.

The boarding house came into sight. He made a quick u-turn and sped off to the private road leading to back country. The engine rumbled as he shifted into third gear. Leaves swirled as the tires tore through their encampments. The wind whorled in his ears, drowning out her words, her accusations, the absolute truth of it. He did not know what to do with her. He only wanted her, wanted her as sure as he wanted blood. But then, he wanted to be human again, to be done living every day in a stupor of the senses. With her he could never be that. She never saw the humanity in him. Only the relatable monster.

Damon drove to the end of his patience and back.

* * *

Stefan ran a hand over the trim. He inspected every part of the car, his annoyance turning to grudging approval as he sat behind the wheel. The wood steering wheel was smooth and cool beneath his palms.

"You're a few years too late to join the Rat Pack, but the dedication is admirable," Stefan said.

"Never liked that scene," Damon grinned, "just the girls and the cars. Besides, why should celebrities have all the toys?"

"Because they are already conspicuous. We have no reason to be."

"You might not, but since I must live, I might as well live," Damon said.

The pointed reminder of the genesis of their feud thickened the silence. Stefan chose to turn the conversation towards a practical matter.

"How much did it cost?"

Damon leaned against the hood. "A mint. I'm afraid you'd give me the forehead of doom if you knew the actual price."

Stefan conceded with a nod. "Then who is it for?"

"Myself, of course. For whom else would I spend an obscene amount of money?"

Stefan glanced at the backseat, then at his brother. "I've known you for one hundred and sixty-six years. Cream leather seats? Red or black, but cream?"

"People change, Stefan," Damon said.

"They do. You don't," Stefan said.

Damon looked over to the Porsche. The red gleamed in the fading light. He thought of her red lips, the imprint of them on his underside of his jaw. He closed his eyes, briefly.

"You ever have a picture in your head, so clear and so real it becomes the single purpose of your days? Every manipulation, every broken neck, every pain, every drop of pleasure is to obtain that picture, everything. Have you ever experienced that before?" Damon turned his eyes on Stefan. They blazed in such a way Stefan had only ever seen once, the first time Damon vowed to be his personal Fury.

"No?" Damon straightened. "How could you, when everything is just given to you. Forgiveness, immortality, love, loyalty. Even the damn rabbits collapse at your feet, necks bare."

Stefan watched him leave the garage. Damon seemed small in the glass window as he walked to the house. Stefan put his head back. He listened to the falling evening. An ache formed in his chest, one of many for his brother, but this one was also for himself. He had become so preoccupied with Elena that he missed it. Damon had changed into someone he once recognized, so long ago.

* * *

Headlights bounced in the distance. The night pulled around him, covering him. He stood there in the road as the Prius passed him and parked in the grass near the shed. Bonnie stepped out. She ran up the steps, swung open the front door, and went upstairs to his rooms. She jigged back down the steps to the study, then down to the cellars. Her footsteps were heavy on the stairs as she went up a second time. He saw her hesitate, turn away from Elena's closed door, and go further on to his rooms. She stood by his bed. She took out her phone, her face illuminated by the bluish white screen, then the light went out as she put it away. He couldn't read her thoughts, but he read her face, heard the agitated flutterings of her hands as she touched her hair, her face, her chest. Her face shone in the window, an eclipse of the sun.

Damon let the night fall back. He couldn't be caught up in her eyes so he averted his face when she saw him. He kept his face turned even as she stood steps from him. An Indian summer descended, enveloped them. It had been two terrible weeks of terrible coldness, and it only took her presence to end it.

"I don't want to be with you," Bonnie said.

Damon swung his head towards her. It was precisely the right thing to say. Bonnie was there to catch his face in her hands. She kissed him with a quiet kind of hunger, full of genuine need, like a dehydrated person.

He lifted her off the ground, kissed her until it hurt, until standing was no longer a viable option. He carried her into the house, up the stairs, down the hall, into his bedroom. They fell onto his bed. Clothes came off in measured subtractions. They were naked, rolling around, groping each other, kissing, stroking. It was like all the other times, as good and as satisfying as all the other times, but when he circled his hips and she undulated her body, when their hands found each other grasped in the sheets, it was different, better. Her sweat didn't cool as quickly and they didn't wait.

When even he went limp, Bonnie stayed awake and watched him. It was a habit he liked for purely vain reasons. He liked knowing there was a woman who gazed upon him with a mind for aesthetics. He woke an hour later to her dropping light kisses along his jaw and down his neck. He trailed a hand down her spine. She kissed his shoulders. Damon stirred as she slid her body onto him. She took his hand and kissed his palm. Sunlight warmed his cheek. He heard her breathing above him. All of these small observations wrenched an awareness from him.

The awareness cascaded over him, over and over with as much force as an orgasm, perhaps much stronger. He didn't want to open his eyes. If he opened his eyes, then he would have to see, he would know, and he would have to let it happen. So he kept his eyes closed.

"I don't want to be with you," Bonnie said. Her voice was clear.

"You said that already."

"I know. I'm hoping if I say it enough, it'll be true."

Bonnie slipped off him. Damon listened to her walk over to the shower. The door opened, shut. The water came on with a short burst. The sound of the spray was sharp compared to when it hit her flesh. To him, Bonnie taking a shower reminded him of rain falling to the earth. It was some kind of poetry, useless as it was. The rain fell where it did, and the earth had no choice but to yield. Damon sighed. Lavender and mint perfumed the room. He had to get up.

So he got up. He had to see her, so he opened his eyes. Bonnie had her hair piled on her head as she scrubbed her body. She turned her back into the spray, saw him, and smiled. It was a small smile, not quite as brilliant as the few hundred she had smiled, but it was his smile, created for him. It made his heart break into fine pieces.

Damon handed Bonnie a towel as she got out. He left her in the bathroom and sat on the bed, stared at the ceiling, turned on the news. Same shit, different day. He turned off the television, pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, and sat in the chair next to the bedside table. Bonnie appeared on the other side of the bed. She had on the clothes from last night. She had a fresh face and her hair was in a ponytail and there were gold studs in her ears and she looked at him as she put on her sweater and Damon realized it wasn't going to be this way. Never, in all of his existence, had he been one to practice reticence. So no, he wasn't going to let this shit happen like an oblique, silent art film.

"A year ago I would have gladly sacrificed you if it meant Elena could live one more day."

Bonnie stooped to put on her shoes. "Would have? You did."

"Then you must be the most corporeal ghost in existence."

"Don't be so naive, Damon. There are other kinds of death," Bonnie said.

"Oh, yes," Damon laughed, "the switch to the dark side. Did I force you to go that path?"

"No. No one did. I just had the choice of letting Elena die and being a monster, or abandoning the spirits and becoming an outcast to my own people. So what do I do? Tell me," Bonnie stared at him, "what would you have done?"

Damon said nothing. A brittle laugh rang out from Bonnie. "Exactly. I thought so. It's all so convenient to make me the bad guy when you are the one with choices. I haven't had a choice since I've met you," Bonnie looked at him, "Don't blame me for wanting to make one now."

"I will blame you." Damon stood up. "I do blame you. You can't come to me like this, incite these fucking feelings in me, and then expect a handshake and a hug and friendly farewell. I..." Damon paused. Bonnie stared at him. If he touched her cheek it would be hot.

"It's this place. I can't be here anymore, Damon. Don't ask me to stay. There's no reason for me to stay."

"Friendship?"

Bonnie shook her head. Damon stepped towards her. "Loyalty? Defeating our enemies?"

"No. No."

Damon stood before her. Her eyes glittered with tears. She bit her lip until it was pale, until tears rolled down that cheek and dripped onto her shirt. This was already a betrayal of herself, Damon knew. To cry like this, to even be here in his room, exposed Bonnie to him in ways that frightened her. He tasted that fear and it was more intoxicating than blood. It meant more to him than the hundred of kisses they shared or the sex they had or the existing trust between them. This fear, so potent, mirrored an aspect of his own trepidation. Damon would have never guessed if she had not come to him at the very last. Her tears were confirmation.

Damon took her face in his hands. The tears ran over his fingers, their saltiness wetting the crevices of his skin. He stared into her green eyes, lapped in them. A warm hand grasped his wrist, begging to be let go, but he had found her weakness. As a hunter, he could not turn from such a magnificent kill as the fortified and hidden heart.

"Love?"

Bonnie went limp against him. Her forehead rested over his still heart. He held her, and after long seconds, arms twined around his waist. He gazed at the wall ahead, listening to her heart beating and her breathing. He closed his eyes and felt a relief most acute.


	7. We Don't Live Here Anymore, Part I

**A/N**: In which Bonnie reflects. Damon is in here too, and this is a two-parter, because it just is. A reviewer wanted to know Elena's response to Bonnie and Damon canoodling, and while this isn't the Elena-Bonnie confrontation that would show her feelings on the matter, this little session definitely sets it up. Enjoy.

You And I

Dual enrollment had its perks. Three classes at the community college Mondays and Wednesdays, then two classes at Mystic High, and Bonnie was done with school everyday by noon. She normally spent the afternoon and most evenings ambling around the house, or at the library, brushing up on the occult and strengthening her dead language skills. The night, the dark space between black sky and approaching pink clouds, used to be spent on blood runs and strategy meetings. She used to huddle over by the fire, there but not, hearing but not listening, waiting for the inevitable request, the impossible, Herculean labor she'd have to perform.

Bonnie lived two lives: day Bonnie was vivacious, smart, extremely stubborn, exceedingly bright while night Bonnie existed in quiet, wary solitude, her self-esteem battered, almost broken, her intelligence not so keen since her mouth remained shut.

And then the sun came out at night. Brief, but steadily growing in brilliance that at last she could no longer divide herself. She had to be one. She had to be something. So she chose both dark and light. She chose path full of shadows, with the warmth of the sun on her neck. The price was steep. Grams. Peace. She fought the spirits every day, fought their expectations and their superior strength, fought the crippling weight of being the enemy, the antagonist in her own moral story. She became strong, stronger than she thought she could be. Her back was warm from the sun.

She learned to say no, finally. It popped out one day, like a poisoned piece of apple. And it wasn't a 'no' that wavered, where a 'I think' followed like a hesitant child. It was a stern 'no', a loud and implied, "Go fuck yourself." Everyone was shocked. Hurt darkened Stefan's eyes and Bonnie had to guard against that hurt. Elena's face mirrored his but on a deeper, personal level. Caroline, Matt, and Jeremy were perturbed, but they accepted it. They wondered when she would reach that point, and here it was, and they were on the other side, staring.

Bonnie stood by the fire. The room fell silent with her answer. Stefan moved to speak, to reconcile, but there was nothing to be done. The group dispersed and Bonnie watched them leave, Matt and Jeremy first, then Caroline, then Stefan, until it was just her and Elena.

"Are you being serious right now?" Elena asked.

"Yes, Elena, I am."

"You realize what will happen to us if you don't help."

Bonnie turned to the fire. "You'll have to be resourceful. It's not unheard of."

"What has happened to you? It's like you don't care anymore. About anything. I don't even know who you are."

The tone Elena used was not one of sadness or confusion. Anger shone out on every syllable. The words were sharp daggers. This was a fight over something more than just her power. This was more than even life or death. Those concepts were boring when people died everyday and living was a anxiety-riddled waiting game. This was a fight between two old friends, now two powerful allies who had changed, who knew what lost tasted like, who understood how detrimental love could be. This was a fight over power, over who got to make the call and position the pieces. Bonnie allowed Elena the right for so long and to have it suddenly supplanted by Bonnie's willpower and recognition of place, it had startled Elena. It made her question ideas she didn't want to examine.

Bonnie changed her tone too, imbued it with force and resolution. "The trump card grew up, acquired a spine. Does that make you uncomfortable?" Bonnie glanced at her. Dark, heavy hair framed Elena's face. The fire illuminated the room in shades of orange and amber, softening everything but the dark eyes of Elena. They were needles. Scalpels. Bonnie looked into them and saw vast amounts of time. Elena looked at her as Bonnie did, seeing the same thing-time immemorial, immense, cosmic.

"We're not the two little girls we once were. We haven't been, not for a long time."

Elena nodded. "Of course we aren't. You're a witch. I'm a vampire. We are living in a horror story. And if we weren't, if none of this ever happened, we would still be different. Older. Adults."

"But possibly still the same friends we had been. The friends that bandaged each other's wounds, that fall asleep on the phone, that plan road trips and intend on going to the same college and living next to each other forever. The kind of friends that loved each other," Bonnie said. She stared at Elena. It was all gone, that former feeling. Her best friend had died, it was true, but she had died the moment she saw the raw wound of Bonnie's pain and did not stop to treat it.

"We needed each other. And then you only needed me when the situation grew out of your depth. Or Stefan's depth. Or Damon's. And I let that need define me, I let you..." Bonnie paused. "I never grieved for you. For your loss. I didn't know how to. And that means something, Elena. I couldn't mourn you like I did Caroline. You died and I went along and did what was expected because, at the end, you weren't the Elena I grew up with, I slumbered with, I laughed and mutilated stuffed animals with. You didn't need me anymore. And I don't need you anymore."

Elena's face went blank. Her eyes shuttered. Bonnie stood a minute examining her friend, the only person in the world who knew her, and left. Elena didn't move as Bonnie brushed by her. She didn't even blink. She felt an absence, a yawning, gaping hole, and she tried to plug it with memories, but they got sucked through until all she had was one memory left, of them doing a last minute project, the air buzzing with frenetic energy as Bonnie printed and glued and arranged and Elena pounded on the keyboard, reading out paragraphs. They fell asleep at the table. Bonnie's dad woke them with an amused grin. They arrived ten minutes late to school, but damn if they didn't give the best presentation on the Korean War. It was wonderful.

Elena looked at this memory. She held it tight and stepped back from the brink.

* * *

Bonnie came home a little numb. She pulled a blanket around her and spread out on the sofa. Her thoughts drifted to other things, future things, then back to Elena, then away again, then back to Elena. She felt like calling her, but they weren't the same, she just told her that, and she had to stick with it.

The doorbell rang an hour later. Damon leaned in the entryway, holding a cardboard box of pastry boxes.

"I brought an array of offerings in chocolate, coconut, caramel, guava, apple, and berry."

Bonnie frowned. "What have you done that would require such an offering?"

Damon smiled. He dropped a kiss on her mouth and came inside. "I love that you are constantly leery of me and my ability to stay out of trouble. It's endearing."

They settled in the living room. Bonnie perused the contents of the box while Damon shrugged off his jacket and fell back into the sofa. He sniffed the air.

"I smell melancholy."

Bonnie darted her eyes to him then back to the guava pastries. "I got into it with Elena."

Damon suppressed a sigh, although not very well.

"It wasn't over you, Vanity," Bonnie said. Damon raised his eyebrows. "And I don't want to talk about it, either."

"Good, because girl feelings are icky and wallowing in them gives you diseases. Like cooties and sentimentality."

"Ha! You practically wrote the book on wallowing and sentimentality. You're Byron on steroids."

Damon grabbed her up and they play fought for a while, Bonnie finally conceding defeat long enough for Damon to kiss her thoroughly. It was hungry, as always, but instead of the slow removal of clothes and the even slower slaking of the body hunger, Damon just gazed up at her, shifting so that her weight rested along his body. Bonnie smoothed a hand over his face. He was thinking, and when Damon stopped mid foreplay, it was something serious and potentially argument-worthy.

"We're in a relationship, right?"

Bonnie wrinkled her forehead. "For about three months now."

"But we never really do things, normal date-like things. Normal couple things."

"We have dinner together-"

"You eating Chinese while I suck on a bloodbag is not a dinner date."

"We go out. The fair, Rocky Horror Picture Show, the field, the Grille."

"Okay, two of those places are B Team related, and the other two were wooing occurrences."

"We have sex. And it's good and intimate and no one leaves immediately afterwards or leaves money on the dresser."

Damon rolled his eyes. "Yes, but we don't make love." A cheesy grin lit his face.

Bonnie shook her head. "Look you, we've been doing this thing and it's weird and lovely and perfect and you want to know why it's perfect? Because it is spontaneous. We are in the moment. We don't plan. We don't schedule, and we most certainly do not make anything. We have. And that's that." She sat up to reach for a brownie, then eyed him.

"These aren't what I think they are."

"If you mean chocolate squares of awesomeness, then yes."

"Damon."

"Have you ever watched _Avatar_ high?"


	8. We Don't Live Here Anymore, Part II

A/N: In which Bonnie suddenly finds herself in a story. So this came out of nowhere, but this is the Sun to which all subsequent updates will revolve around. This is the chapter where it gets serious and sad. Enjoy.

Arrow

Bonnie ran.

Every step ripped fresh pain from her side. Her lungs shook. Her head was about to explode.

Bonnie ran.

She smelled the blood, heard the cry. It was guttural, primal. It bounced off the trees and traveled down the neural pathways of her brain.

Bonnie ran. She thought about a broom and if she was a witch why couldn't she fly, fly over the hard ground, over the sharp, brittle branches, she was so tired. She slipped and pitched forward, tumbling for a few feet before a tree stopped her. Whatever breath she had left her. She remained still as her body rang, drowning out the sound of the cries and the snarling and the words of power.

An image of Damon, his eyes wide and mouth in a tight line, flashed on her eyelids. Bonnie rolled over. She dug her fingers into the cold, compact ground and got to her knees. The sounds of her body faded. The words of power filled the surrounding air. The distinct lightness Bonnie associated with her magic became obfuscated, hard to locate. Her power drained from her as the words intensified. Bonnie got to her feet. The blood hung heavy, like a fog. Her body quivered from exhaustion.

Bonnie ran.

She happened upon the scene without knowing she had arrived. Nothing seemed familiar save the trees. Then she felt the heat on her face, saw the flames of protection leap before her. Esther's face wavered behind a curtain of flickering orange and gold.

"What are you doing?" Bonnie yelled.

"What must be done. I have the force of the spirits behind me, I have all the power that ever was, Bonnie. In order to destroy a great evil, an innocent life must be taken."

Esther's large eyes were mad and roving. Bonnie knew it was useless. She had to focus on those she could save. A foot twitched at the edge of her vision. Bonnie looked to see Elena propped up against a tree. A stake protruded from her chest. Bonnie fell beside her and grasped the stake. Together, they pulled. Elena screamed as the stake slid out with a wet sound. She collapsed on her side.

"What is it?" Bonnie looked at the wound. It wasn't healing. "Why aren't you healing? Elena!" Elena grimaced, her eyes shiny, blood bubbling from her mouth.

Bonnie went cold. Elena was human. Or turning human.

"Stefan!" Bonnie screamed. He had to be near. "Stefan!"

"She twisted his head around. He won't be up for awhile."

Bonnie glanced over to see Jeremy crouched behind Elena. He had a bloody streak across his throat. His eyes reflected the fire. Bonnie watched him select an arrow from the quiver on his back and insert it into the crossbow at his feet. She placed her hand on the bow. A spell burned beneath her palm, a strong spell. She knew it. She wrote it.

"I don't even know how you got this, but you can't use it. It's dark magic. It'll backfire on you and-"

"And what? I'll see dead people? I'll die? I don't fucking care anymore. This has got to end," Jeremy said. He shoved her hand away and stood with the crossbow level with Esther's head.

Bonnie stared at the bloody sludge forming at her knees. Bits of leaves and twigs and life. She saw Stefan a yard behind Jeremy, his torso at an odd angle to his limbs. She did not see Caroline, or Damon, or Alaric. Fear stopped her from shaking. The worst had happened, twice, and here she was, watching it happen again. Jeremy would fail and one more death would drive him crazy. If Elena died, Stefan would be inconsolable and Damon...Bonnie didn't have a choice.

She shot up, blocking the shot.

"These arrows can rip right through you and into her. Don't," he said.

"Your sister is dying. I need you to take her as far from here as you can. I won't be able to control where I tap into."

Jeremy lowered the crossbow an inch. "What are you going to do?"

Bonnie held out a hand. "I need the quiver. Take the one already strung." Jeremy stared at her for several seconds. He cursed and lowered the crossbow to take off the quiver. He draped the strap over her palm. "Whatever it takes Bonnie."

Bonnie nodded. Jeremy bent and hefted his sister into his arms. Elena was as limp as her hair. Jeremy gave her one last glance before jogging into the forest. Bonnie watched his silhouette grow smaller and smaller before the darkness swallowed him. Bonnie squeezed the quiver. She barely had anything left.

The crown of a spell circle was the most important location. Power was drawn through and dispersed from the apex, which was the most northern point of the circle A witch stood on the diameter in order to best channel the magic. Break the crown and the channel is disrupted. If it is an extremely potent spell, the sever could be fatal to the witch or to the disruptor. It took an immense amount of concentration and skill to break an ordinary crown. This circle was pure spiritual energy, a mixture of dark and practical magic. Its crown would be impervious to anything Bonnie knew or could learn. There was nothing to be done except to do the last thing she wanted to do.

Bonnie stood at the apex. Esther, and the thousands of eyes peering through her, watched as Bonnie set three arrows at her feet, heads facing the crown. She inhaled, then closed her eyes. She started to speak in a low voice. Her hands stretched out over the arrows. They began to glow a pale gray. Her voice rose and the glow turned black. The fire roared as Bonnie's magic grew, battering the circle like dark water to a shore. Esther spoke a word and Bonnie stumbled back, the power slapping against her body like a gale of icy wind. Bonnie felt her magic wane. She went to one knee. She didn't have enough in her. Not even her life would be enough. She needed more, it demanded more.

A body lay on the ground a few yards from where Elena had been. Blue eyes stared at her. The face was familiar despite the blood and the paleness. The toe of a boot almost touched the circle. A major flare and he, yes, he would burn. A sob broke from her lips. It was so intoxicating, the life calling to her. One arm fell to the earth. The dark glow began to ebb. The blue eyes blinked, the chest shuddered with air. The bloodied lips mouthed her name.

Bonnie closed her eyes. She took his life with a whispered word. The euphoria returned, but with an acuteness that made it painful. Power flushed her veins, rushed through every cell, along every nerve, moving outwards. The arrows rose as Bonnie began to advance. The fire bent as she approached. Esther began a final barrage but what did the dead have against the nebulous vibrancy of life? The arrows broke through the circle and pierced Esther in the shoulders and stomach. A ripple of energy blew her back out of the circle. The entire structure of her spell collapsed on Bonnie as she stepped on the crown. It would have killed her if she did not have that final arrow.

Bonnie knelt next to Esther. The spirits were silent behind her eyes.

"Rest now, Esther." Bonnie plunged the final arrow into Esther's heart. The spell shattered as the color bleached from Esther. A gust of ancient wind buffeted Bonnie's face, and then nothing. The crickets and the forest made its nocturnal noises. Bonnie took Esther's heart and burned it in her palm. Never again would she rise. Her power had been dispersed. It was over.

Bonnie slumped forward onto her hands. Her shoulders shook as the magic receded. A weird pressure built at the back of her throat. Her mouth tasted of pennies. She touched her nose. Her fingers came away slick and warm. A muffled cry snapped her head to the left. Damon was there, bent over the body of Alaric. He looked disheveled, dirty, crazed. Bonnie found that her legs were too weak to stand on so she crawled over to him, reaching.

"Rick?" Damon said. His voice broke. He turned Alaric over. There was so much blood Bonnie couldn't tell what had killed him. Damon shook Alaric once, then doubled over, face hidden in his arm. Bonnie grasped the hand clutching his thigh. It was rigid, the flesh a cube of ice.

They stayed like that until Damon decided to move. He stood, his hand slipping from beneath hers as though she wasn't there. "I have to find Elena. She'll need blood," he said. His voice was flat.

He walked away without waiting for a response. Bonnie sat alone with Alaric's cooling body. She scooted closer, wiping the blood from her nose. Blue eyes stared up at the moonless sky. Bonnie gazed at them. The longer she did, the more nauseous she became until the realization became too much to withstand. She had killed him.

Horror washed over Bonnie. Frantic, she moved her hands over Alaric's chest. Where was the heart? The heart, she had to place her hands there, and pull him back. Yes, pull him back. She tried. She tried until she screamed her voice raw. She tried, crying, gnashing her teeth, praying. Someone grabbed her wrists, wrested them from the body, and pulled her up. She fought but whoever it was just held her until there was nothing else to do but faint.


	9. Millais on Keats

**A/N**: In which Bonnie meets the inevitable. I have a confession to make. I'm a pessimist. So bear with me through this period of blue. The sun will come out. Maybe not tomorrow, but it will. Enjoy.

Jeremy, you killjoy.

Jeremy was the one who told her. It wasn't a conscious admission, Bonnie knew. He had become pensive to the point of paranoid. Dr. Fell had prescribed Jeremy propranolol in the week following Alaric's death, but that did little to mitigate his anxiety, especially concerning Elena. Bonnie practiced avoidance that week, studiously timing her comings and goings as to not encounter any member of the group. Perhaps it was the surprise of seeing her that induced the panic attack, or maybe it was the culmination of everything, or maybe the weather was just right.

Bonnie stayed after school to take a test. The teacher raised a brow when she turned it in fifteen minutes later. The quizzical brow disturbed her confidence to the point that she turned on her heel and ran down the hall. She burst into the classroom. Empty.

"Crap on a stick," Bonnie said. Hopefully she didn't do too bad. But maybe Rossetti's model wasn't Lizzie Siddal. Burne-Jones did paint _The Beguiling of Merlin_, didn't he? And, hot damn, it wasn't Shelley but Keats who wrote "The Eve of St. Agnes". So not one, but two questions down the drain. Bonnie looked up from the dull vinyl floor just in time to collide with Jeremy.

She gripped his forearm as Jeremy grabbed her arm. She tottered, but came to a full stop. Laughing, she sputtered out a greeting before noticing his alarm.

"Jeremy?"

"Bonnie, I'm sorry, I didn't see-are you-how have you-"

"Hey, Jere, it's okay, I wasn't paying attention. You know me," Bonnie eyed him. "Are you okay?" She peered behind him. "Is there something going on?"

"No, no, nothing." Jeremy glanced over his shoulder. "Are you hungry?"

Bonnie wasn't, but Jeremy had her elbow and steered her out the building.

"I guess I am," Bonnie said. Jeremy strapped into the passenger seat. She drove to the Grille only to have Jeremy balk at the idea.

"There's like no other restaurant in Mystic Falls where we can go to eat?"

"But you work here. And you get a discount. And I know what I'm getting..." Jeremy shot her a look. "Fine, we can go to that French cafe on Bird."

They sat outside on the terrace. Bonnie skipped the lunch menu and went for the desserts. She ordered a large cup of caramel whipped hot chocolate and a slice of coconut tart, a cherry and pistachio pastry, and chocolate mousse. Jeremy ordered water and a side of pomme frites, on Bonnie's urging.

"Here, you have to try this," Bonnie extended the hot chocolate, "it's so ridiculously good."

Jeremy took a sip, nodded in agreement. He watched the excitement on her face.

"I don't get you," Jeremy said.

Bonnie put down the cherry and pistachio pastry. She brushed flaky crumbs from her lips. "What don't you get?"

"How you can be happy when nothing makes sense anymore. You always seem to bounce back, or just, move on. Nothing seems to stick to you."

Bonnie toyed with her napkin. "It looks that way, but it isn't. I just find things in my day that make it better. Like hot chocolate. Or having lunch with you," she touched his hand. Jeremy stared at her.

Bonnie made a decision. "I've been seeing Damon for awhile. More like a few months." Jeremy's eyes widened as he sat forward. Bonnie hurried on. "I really like him. More than that maybe. He's one the few people that make me genuinely happy, despite all the shit we've been through, and he's put us through. You're the first person I've told."

Bonnie waited. Jeremy shook his head. He looked at the cups and the plates with delicately arranged food. Something passed over his face. Bonnie braced herself for the outburst. It was swift. The entire table crashed to the pavement. Warm liquid splashed her jeans. Jeremy stood over her, his anger so intense she was afraid for a second, then it subsided, and she saw his face go still, and his hands started to shake. He staggered back.

"I..." Jeremy looked at the mess between them. He took off.

As soon as he left the waiter rushed over, asking if she was okay. Bonnie nodded. She handed the man all the money in her purse, apologized, and ran after Jeremy. She didn't go far.

He paced in the alley between a bookstore and an Amscot. Bonnie approached him warily. "Jeremy?"

"I'm sorry. I just lost it. It all crashed down and I didn't know what to do. But he's a fucking bastard."

Bonnie started to weave a spell. "It's okay. You're stressed. We can go back home, talk about it."

"Home?" Jeremy laughed. "Home is a fucking joke. Everyone is dead. Killed. That place is a fucking Halloween stop."

He whirled on her. "Are you really in love with him? Are you really in love? Really?"

Bonnie stared into his brown eyes. "Yes," she said, "I love Damon." As she spoke a warm breeze brushed Jeremy's face. He relaxed for a moment, but his panic was too strong.

"He'll hurt you. I know he will."

"I know it too."

"Then why?"

"Because I love him."

"That's not good enough."

Bonnie put force into her voice. "Jeremy. Come with me now."

He suddenly slumped forward. Bonnie rushed to his side before he fell. She forgot to temper her irritation. A bit more and he would be unconscious. She maneuvered him to the car and into the front seat. She called Matt and told him to meet her at the house. He didn't ask any questions, which spoke to how normal emergency situations had become.

Bonnie pulled up in front of the Gilbert house ten minutes later. She undid her seatbelt, sat with her hands on the steering wheel, thinking. She turned to Jeremy. He stared straight ahead, in a daze.

"Jeremy," Bonnie slipped her hand around his wrist. He closed his eyes.

"I saw that look on your face, back at the restaurant. You were afraid I'd hurt you."

"I know you would never do that."

"Wouldn't I?" Jeremy sighed.

"You haven't been around lately, and Stefan didn't want you to know. He's a control freak, especially when it comes to Elena," Jeremy inhaled, "and Damon."

The air stilled. The molecules trembled. Bonnie held onto his wrist but didn't feel his flesh. She went rigid. Would he make her ask? She didn't want to. She refused to.

"They went on a killing spree down in Louisiana. It was pretty bad. Twenty people, most of them tourists. Not just drained of blood, but brutalized. Attacked. One of Tyler's hybrid friends called him. Stefan went down there. He had to vervain them, but not before he was almost killed."

Jeremy glanced at her. "Your boyfriend and my sister. The Bonnie and Clyde of vampires."

Bonnie leaned back into the seat.

"They've been fucking, Bonnie. Killing. Living up to their nature. And you love him. Isn't that sick?" Bonnie turned her eyes on him. He gave a dry laugh. "I should kill her. I know it. But she's my sister. And your best friend."

He slipped his hand from her grip. She heard the seatbelt click and the door open. Cold air rushed into the car. The door didn't slam immediately. Bonnie kept her face forward. There were tears threatening to come down and her throat itched and a vein in her head throbbed. She felt his contrition, and she hated him for it all the same. The door closed, the car shook.

Bonnie sat in behind the wheel. She smoothed her hands over the wheel. There was a way to react to news like this. Pick up her phone and tear him a new asshole. Go all Spanish Inquisition on his ass. He'd love that, though. No, not over the phone, too impersonal. Go over there, look him in the face, let him see it, all of it, make him feel like someone cleft his stomach with a dull axe, and then...what? Cry? An appalled sob burst from her mouth. She bit it back but the pressure was too strong and her sadness broke through, a deluge of tears and ugliness.

She didn't notice the tapping on the driver's side window until her breathing became slight puffs of warm air. The windows were fogged and it was dusk, almost full blown evening. Bonnie could make out a face and two blue eyes. She lifted a hand to wipe the glass, but all the energy she had left she needed to drive home and take a hot shower and put on soft pajamas and forget for eight hours.

Bonnie left the glass fogged. She drove away and only looked back once. His face was red and black in the rearview mirror.


	10. Keep Her Waiting

A/N: In which Damon does an assessment. This chapter is actually in response to a reviewer, **ShyButterflyKiss**, who asked for Damon's POV on the situation. Early gift: I'm ahead by two free writes, so expect another one of these things in a few days. Enjoy.

What's The Rule on Mourning?

More traumatic things had happened in his life. War, Katherine, vampirism. So many people had died. He outlived or killed a vast majority of friends, lovers, or acquaintances. Rick wasn't the first friend whose death Damon witnessed, it just felt like it. The sight of Rick lifeless shocked him. He recalled the first bloodied body he had ever seen, out on the battlefield during the Civil War. The listless eyes and the stench and the brown, clotted clothing and the slackjawed agony forever sketched on the man's face followed him back to Mystic Falls. He had seen plenty worst from that point on. He even became the embodiment of a nightmare, but that initial shock, that terror upon witnessing the brutality of mortality and empathy clung to him, ready to be revisited. And then Rick died. And it was that shock a thousand times over because just earlier that day Damon had stormed his office, drank off half a bottle of his best malt, and bitched about haggling with teenagers over security.

Eight hours later, his only friend was killed by his girlfriend. Intellectually, Damon justified the killing. He saw Rick reach out a bloody hand to Bonnie, knew what had to be done, saw Bonnie hesitate, then the power consumed her and Rick went limp. He knew someone had to die in order for them to live. How many times did he ready the sacrificial altar to save Elena? Too many times, the live part of him said. Too many times, and now you have to reap. And so he did.

He saturated himself in abandon. At first, alcohol. Prodigious amounts of alcohol, then sex got thrown in, and before long, a body count. Elena came after him after four days of gallivanting. He was dancing and feeding and drinking in the middle of a too crowded nightclub in some scene district of D.C. No one would remember anything tomorrow, not even how five people ended the night dead in corners. He turned and there she was, haloed in electric blue. She passed through the crowd like silk through fingers. He watched her coming, watched the colors shifting over her face, and had a moment of providence. Elena reached him, touched him, used him as leverage to pull herself forward, and in so doing fell into his orbit. It was instantaneous. All he had to do was kiss her, sweep her in, press her close, and kiss her. She tasted the blood on his lips. From there, Damon could only classify it as a line from a Queen song: "I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars, on a collision course."

A week of Elena. Heaven. They forgot, together. They fed, together. They drank and partied and fucked and it was glorious. He had everything he wanted and all it took was Rick dying. And then the following week came and clarity began to assert its dominance. Clarity in the form of Stefan. He tracked them down just as a pack of hybrids found them. Damon went sober the moment an guttural scream silenced the surrounding action. Stefan lay on the slick alley cement. The hybrid reared back, ready to deliver the death blow. Elena pounced. She separated his head from his body and tossed it aside like a dirty rag. Elena went to her knees, hands trembling over a still and ashen Stefan. It was all Damon could do not to lose the rest of his shit.

Without so much as a blink, Damon punched the hearts out of the remaining hybrids. He went to his brother, saw the stab wound in his chest, watched the gray withering of his face. A piece of the wood had splintered off. A slow but eventual death. Extraction would have to be finite. His hands shook. Elena looked at him. What do we do, she asked. She kept asking and he kept shaking and Stefan kept dying. A woman stepped out from a side door, looked at the scene, disappeared, and returned with a dark wooden box. She had rings on her fingers and reddish brown hair in silken dreads. She smelled like lavender and patchouli. A witch.

A witch saved his brother without a word. She removed the splinter and gave him some blood from the brachial artery, stopping the cut with a white poultice from her box. She stood up, gazed at Stefan, then Elena, then at him. Did she recognize him? Damon saw Bonnie in her hazel eyes. Stefan sputtered back to life and his attention went to his brother. When he looked up again, the witch was gone.

The aftermath Damon found trivial. He wasn't for tears and declarations and prostrations. Stefan felt betrayed. Who hasn't? Elena was confused. Right. He was impassive to the tension and hurt. Stefan was alive. That was enough. Or he thought it was.

"You've been avoiding me," Elena said. Damon looked up from his glass. He was just about to pour when she sauntered in. The sight of her produced body aches. He set the glass down, forgot about the scotch.

"Not true. I've been underfoot the entire week. You're the one doing the avoiding."

Elena cast her eyes down in a display of flustered embarrassment. She tucked hair behind an ear. Damon counted the seconds before her brown eyes flitted to his face. Ten.

"How do you do it?"

Damon narrowed an eye. "Do what?"

"Forget about the people you've killed? Because I feel sick, like I want to regurgitate all that blood, give it back, make them alive."

Damon sighed. He took the glass in hand again. "First, that would be absolutely disgusting. Second, you can't bring them back. Third, I carry all the guilt so you don't have to. My capacity for death and destruction is virtually limitless."

Elena watched him pour. She waited until he drank it down and poured a second before asking, "So humorous denial and lots of alcohol?"

Damon toasted her. "Yes, exactly. Denial. Like I say you did all that because you were unable to help yourself, being a baby vampire and all that. The sex can be explained away under that heading, just in case that was the next topic of conversation."

"It wasn't, but since you brought it up..." Elena rested a hand on his drinking arm. One touch immobilized him. She took the glass, set it down, and filled the empty space with her hand. Her eyes never left his as she kissed his knuckles.

"I don't want to deny anything. It wasn't because I was out of my mind. I...I wanted to be with you. Because ever since I met you, you've fascinated me. And you excite me. You challenge me. And I need that. I've longed for that. So I won't deny it. I want to face it. With you."

Damon squeezed her hand. Flesh and bone and heat. He kissed her, soft and slow, falling between the folds of her lips and into her silk strands, losing his sense of self, slipping off into Elena-land. He was nearly there too when green eyes and a crooked smile arced across his brain. He drew back as if stung. The air in his lungs grew stale, the elation he felt soured in his mouth. Elena gazed at him with a knowing that made him uneasy.

"What is it?"

Damon stepped away from her. Bonnie loomed in the background. She had always been there, waiting. He had left her waiting.

"I can't do this," Damon said. He looked at Elena. "You know why."

"Bonnie."

They stared at each other. Damon broke the contest. "You're all I've ever wanted."

"I know. But am I still who you want?"

Damon looked up. Elena was gone. Her question rang in his mind. _Am I still who you want?_ He couldn't answer.


	11. Concession Speech

A/N: In which Bonnie downloads a cover of "I Can't Make You Love Me". Betrayals are messy, but none of them more heartbreaking than the betrayal of the self. Enjoy.

Not The Only Girl In The World

Damon had killed Jeremy before, but never because he wanted to. Killing Jeremy used to be a secondary reaction to an Elena-induced problem. It was never personal. So when he walked into the Gilbert house and punched Jeremy in the neck, crushing his windpipe and killing him, it was something new. Of course, Elena was there, yelling and screaming, forcing her blood down the kid's throat.

"Damon," Elena screamed. She went after him, knocking him across the room. He caught her fist as he came up, using his strength and years and own burning anger to force her back. Her eyes were blood-rimmed. "Don't ever lay a hand on him again."

Damon said nothing. He dropped her fist and left. The air vacated his lungs as soon as he stepped on the sidewalk. Sunlight flooded the street but it was devoid of heat. The cold was too strong.

* * *

The alarm went off. Bonnie woke. She rolled over and listened to the trill of bells and whistles and heavy drums. The noise kept her mind empty, and she wondered if it was a dream. She felt detached, as in dreams. The morning light had a surreal cast, a pinkish orange of melting sorbet. She couldn't remember how she got here. The trilling stopped. Thoughts trickled in, then memory, then feeling. It was still true.

Alaric was dead. Damon and Elena were screwing. Vampires, werewolves, and hybrids, oh my. The last thought made her smile, but only for a moment. The crush of guilt and anger came, flooding her brain. She hadn't handled this well. She was supposed to talk to someone, try and sort out her feelings before it all coalesced into something that cut. But instead of talking about the blood on her hands, out popped the love disclosure.

The phone rang. Bonnie ignored it. Downstairs her father put on one of his most prized possessions, _Rumours _on vinyl. "Dreams" filled the house, and Bonnie listened as her father dropped something breakable in the sink. It was Saturday. She covered her face with her hands and cried.

* * *

Bonnie walked the woods. It had snowed early that morning. The ground was white and the trees were black and gray-brown and gray. The sky bled into the achromatic surroundings. She was a dark thing moving between the trees. White puffs of air floated then disappeared. The clearing came into view. Her footsteps slowed to a stop. Power still sat heavy in the air. The day grew darker. Smoke filled the air and the scream, the reverberating scream rattled her bones.

Her cellphone rang. Bonnie scrambled to answer it. Her hands shook. It was Matt, and he was reluctant to ask, but he needed her to come by the Gilbert house. Something had happened, Jeremy had been attacked, and he was tired of the bullshit, of being the lowest common denominator. He needed help, and protection, and he didn't know who else to turn to. Bonnie listened until Matt had talked himself dry. And she listened to the scream and the fire and Alaric's shuddering breath and the warm flush of power saturating her cells. She turned from the clearing.

Fifteen minutes later Bonnie arrived in the Gilbert foyer. Matt led her up to Jeremy's room. He lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He barely noticed Bonnie as she sat beside him. Matt sat in a chair by the bed. Bonnie looked at them both. It was the three of them against everything else. They were the only ones left, the only ones with human attachments, without humanity switches. They were the ones who shouldered the burden, and they did it quietly, even as the weight broke them. Bonnie recognized her kindred in Jeremy's vacant expression and in Matt's tense posture.

"I'm afraid of what I'll do when I don't know what to do," Bonnie said. Matt stared at her. Understanding hooded his eyes.

"I shouldn't have called you for that," Matt reached for her hand, "It's been a really shitty day and, I don't know, I guess I feel better knowing you're around."

Bonnie felt the warmth of his hand. Strong and sure. She closed her eyes and exhaled. The words of an old spell came to her out of the dark. She merely thought them and the magic slipped from her hand to his. Matt jerked back with an expletive. It was over in a matter of seconds. Fain,t shimmering lattice work covered every visible portion of skin. Matt held up his hands.

"What is this?"

Bonnie took Jeremy's hand. Jeremy remained preoccupied with the ceiling. "It's an older kind of protection spell. Invulnerability to supernatural attacks. It isn't permanent, it lasts a few years and you're going to have to keep healthy because it uses your own energy to create a kind of shield, but it's better than nothing, right?"

"Right."

Matt and Bonnie turned to the doorway. Elena stood there with her arms crossed and shoulders hunched, her hair swept up in a messy bun. She looked herself save for the darkness in her eyes. Bonnie stood. "I have to go. I hope you feel better Jeremy," she squeezed his hand. "Matt," she hugged him. Bonnie glanced at Elena as she moved around her and out of the room. She waited for Elena in the living room.

Elena took a seat on the couch. Bonnie remained standing. They stared at each other, waiting for the other person to start. Elena picked at the sofa fabric.

"Did Matt tell you what happened?"

"Damon had a temper tantrum. Nothing new there."

"Except why."

Bonnie shrugged. "That has nothing to do with me."

"Come on, Bonnie," Elena sat forward, "it was because of you."

"I made Damon kill Jeremy?" The incredulity gave way to anger. "Can you not see what this back and forth does to him? You go around, extolling the virtues of humanity, then you go on a murder spree with the your boyfriend's brother, who is in love with you. And we all have to clean up when you change your mind."

Elena regarded her silently. Exhaustion led Bonnie to sigh and place a hand to her forehead.

"How long have you been seeing Damon?"

The abrupt shift in topic threw Bonnie. "What?"

"I get the hypocrisy, I really do. You have feelings for a guy you shouldn't have feelings for. You're not sure how it happened, how it snuck up on you. You can explain liking him, he's charming, or being attracted, he is Damon, but love? That's crazy. Insane. Impossible," Elena unfolded from the couch, "but you fell in love with him. Against all reason. You did, didn't you?"

Bonnie walked around Elena. She went to the door, determined to remain reticent. But the thoughts kept divebombing the filter and Bonnie could not keep her mouth from opening and words from issuing forth. She stopped with one hand on the cool, brass doorknob. The paneled wood gleamed. She put her back to it. Elena turned to face her, expectant. Bonnie took a breath as her heart thrummed in her ears and her hands shook.

"You don't have to worry about me, Elena. The contest never existed. He loves you. He loves the human in you, the human he can't be. And he loves you as you are, immortal, hungry, fucked up. He loves you. I didn't just realize this, Elena. I've known about it, for as long as you've known about it, remember? But I was given this opportunity to be the one, and I took it and I," Bonnie faltered. "I'm doing this as gracefully as I can. I'm still human, so this hurts." The shrug was involuntary, so was the tear. It made a dark oval stain on her gray sweater.

Bonnie left before she embarrassed herself further. It was bad enough giving a concession speech to the Chosen One, but to be the subject of her pity? Bonnie forced herself not to run to her car. This was part of something, something close to being an adult. This was experience, this was a trust exercise, this was hell, this was life. This was life. This was her life. She just had to remember to breathe through it.


	12. Snowfall on Wickery Bridge

**A/N**: In which Bonnie makes a graceful exit. This is a longer chapter, mostly because it takes a certain amount of sangfroid to make a graceful exit. Let me know what you think (I already know some of you will). Enjoy.

Can I look now?

Bonnie went home. She shut herself in her room and read each acceptance letter again. She opened Google Maps and input the addresses of each school into the 'Directions' tab. She calculated the results in a column. Based on distance, Bonnie confirmed her place at University of California-Berkeley.

She found her father in his office. He looked up with mild interest.

"I changed my mind about Christmas in Spokane. It might be nice."

Enthusiasm lit his face. He picked up the cordless and called Bonnie's uncle. Bonnie heard without listening. She stayed while her father purchased the tickets, chiefly to request a window seat. The flight left at 9:45 a.m. the next day.

"Pack for snow and bring an extra bag. Your aunt and uncle went and splurged on gifts."

Bonnie smiled until she was out of sight. She returned upstairs to pack. There were a heap of sweaters on her bed and she was in the middle of a debate on the purple or green ugly Christmas sweater when the phone rang. Bonnie waited for the voicemail icon to pop up.

"Bonnie, call me. All this shit happened and no one thought to say anything. Stefan is an absolute mess. I am so angry with Elena right now, I can't even...argh! That fucking dickweed! Why aren't you picking up?"

Bonnie deleted the message. She spent five minutes drafting a text that was an appropriate mix of outrage and sadness and disbelief. At the end she made sure to include that she needed some time to think about things, it's been a very bad week, but she'd call as soon as she got sick of pajamas. That done, she dug around in her closet for a jacket. Leather brushed her fingers. She tugged and out came his leather jacket, one of them anyway. Bonnie brushed the sleeves. She pressed it to her nose. His cologne clung to the cotton lining. Her eyes burned.

Immediately she got to her feet and did a complete inventory of her room. Anything from the Damon era, from the bullet from defense training to the Polaroid of them at The Rocky Horror Picture Show to the unused tickets to an opera in D.C. to the t-shirt she knew he liked to see her wear, went into a paper bag. She grabbed the leather jacket on her way out.

"Elena called, she wants to do dinner. See you in a few hours!"

The slam of the front door cut off her father's reply. Bonnie caught her reflection in the passenger window. Driving would put her at the boarding house in fifteen minutes. Closure would take maybe another fifteen. She'd be home in forty-five minutes. In bed an hour later. Practical. Efficient. Numbing. Bonnie dropped the keys in her pocket and turned north. She draped the leather coat around her. The paper handles of the bag pulled on her fingers. The artifacts of their relationship carried more weight than Bonnie thought.

* * *

The evening deepened to an inky purple. The air had a sharpness that heralded snow. Bonnie strolled along sidewalks with twinkling white lights looped through thinning trees and lampposts adorned with red bows. She smelled peppermint and hot chocolate and the smoky spice of a fire. This time of year belonged to Grams. She made wreaths and boughs and always found that Christmas tree, the one that was synonymous with 'old-fashioned' and 'picturesque'. Bonnie would bitch and moan about unraveling lights and unwrapping glass ornaments and spaghetti frames of felt, and Grams would pretend not to hear. It had been two years since she died and only now Bonnie felt the absence of pine-scented air and apple cider. She had hoped, maybe, to do something meaningful with someone meaningful, a Christmas tradition Grams instilled in her. She had hoped to share Christmas with him, but that hope was delusion, and the lights and the bows and the peppermints made her despair intricate and fine.

Bonnie passed out of the town center and took the last residential street before Wickery Bridge Road. Her pace was brisk despite the falling temperature. Soon the road began to curve into a slight incline. Her breath came in puffs. She came upon the bridge and inhaled sharply. Damon stood halfway across the bridge, near the railing. Bonnie faltered. The sight of him made her heart pound. Her stomach was a rag being wrung by invisible hands. The leather jacket weighed a hundred pounds and his cologne became cloying and the bag she held lightened to the point where she had to look down to see if she held anything at all.

She walked a few more feet then stopped. She couldn't come any closer. His eyes kept looking at her face. Bonnie turned to the water. The surface rippled black lines.

The silence stretched. Memories poured into the vacuum, memories of quiet moments, of fights, of touches and words and feeling and desire and fear. Memories of dreaming, of thirst, of letting go. Bonnie looked at him. She wore it all on her face.

"I told Jeremy I loved you. Before he told me you were screwing Elena. And even after he told me, I still loved you. I believed it for maybe a full minute afterwards. And then it didn't make sense, what I felt." Bonnie looked at the water. "And then it meant nothing." She took the opera tickets from the bag before chucking it into the river.

Damon stepped further into her periphery. Bonnie held out a hand. He halted. His hands flexed then relaxed. Bonnie knew that tick. It saddened her that she knew it. The seconds became minutes. Damon flexed his hands again. Bonnie reached to remove the jacket when he spoke.

"It was that day, remember? We fought about business as usual. You wanted nothing to do with it and I left to exacerbate the situation as only I can. And then I called you when it got beyond my control. I called you when I realized I needed you. Not when the group needed you. I called you because you're my cavalry. That was my mistake. I never understood the sacrifice, and when Alaric died, part of me was afraid of it. Afraid of you. Afraid of what could result in my need for you."

Bonnie frowned at the black water. "And the other part?"

"The other part..." Damon hesitated, "the other part was the recreant I've always been, the one who falls back on the worn path when the lights go out and the map crumbles away."

Bonnie grinned. "I like it when you talk like that. Figures of speech just roll off your tongue." She looked at him. Her eyes were wide and dry and unfathomable. "Does this kind of poetry work on Elena?"

The urge to turn from her became so strong then. It was pointless. They had moved beyond the point of rescue. She didn't want to understand. She didn't care for his own grief, at what she had done and what he had done, she didn't have any more tears to shed or give left. Anger made him say this to her. Or maybe desperation. Damon could never separate the two.

Bonnie took off the jacket and tucked the tickets into a pocket. She draped it over the railing. The warmth left her and she gazed up at the clear night sky. Tiny dots of twinkling silver seemed close enough to taste on her tongue. She inhaled the sharp scent of snow. If she wanted to, she could hasten the oncoming snowfall. But she felt the need to let things happen, to let the snow fall when it would, to let it begin and end as nature decreed.

"When I reached for you, you should have reached back. You should have held onto _me_. You should have come to _me_. You should have loved me the way you wanted me to love you, the way I did love you. I could have left a month ago. I could be in Alaska, being cold and normal, but I didn't listen to that voice in my head. You know that voice, right?" Bonnie glanced at him to make sure he listened to her. Damon nodded. His mouth was a compressed line.

Bonnie did an unexpected thing. She kissed that compressed line. She kissed him, hung onto him, felt herself shift in the familiar way when he lifted her slightly off her feet. She felt it all anew, but as a pain she knew would never leave her. She broke it off to rest her head against his chest. They stayed there as it got colder. She listened for his heartbeat. It was faint, like a thump in another room. If he were human, would it hurt less? If Elena was human? Bonnie decided that no, it wouldn't. She fell in love with a human boy and got dumped for a ghost. This hurt was a fraction of that. This hurt could define a person. This hurt was the limping kind. Bonnie shut her eyes.

"What can I say?" Damon asked. She said nothing.

"I never saw beyond them, Bonnie. And then I saw you. I never thought it would be you. I couldn't believe it until it was."

Bonnie lifted her head from his chest. She stepped back. Her eyes measured the space between them, then glanced at the water, at his shoulder, at his jacket, then gazed into the unnatural blue of his eyes.

"I never thought it would be me too, and if you let yourself, Damon, neither did you."

She gestured at the jacket. "That's everything."

Bonnie took a leading step back, turned, and walked back down the road. Snow flakes came twirling down. He watched her grow smaller and smaller and finally disappear in a world of white. He stood there for another thirty minutes. He flipped the switch on and off, on and off, then finally off.


	13. Look Up, Look Back

A/N: In which Bonnie and Damon go forward and back. Happy (belated) New Year. Enjoy.

Freshman

Bonnie looked up one day and spring break was tomorrow. She turned in her last final exam and walked into dry sunshine. Sunshine that required shades, that baked her skin to a nice walnut brown. Students rushed around her, making plans, whizzing by on bikes and skateboards, laughing. Bonnie let the atmosphere soak into her. She felt their excitement, but she did not rush. The last exam was across campus and instead of taking the numerous shortcuts Mihaz advised, Bonnie took the scenic route to the hilly residence hall.

The rhythm of her walk lulled her into a waking dream. Towering redwoods, green leaves brushing her legs, the scent of wet earth, birds calling and water trickling. She and Lucy walking along the overlook of Crescent Beach, waves upon waves at Mendocino, a cute surfer giving her a lesson. Bonnie smiled with pleasure. She might actually get to flex her magic muscles this trip. Lucy promised to take her to an underground exhibition. "The largest gathering of witches for the year. You'll see some things you never thought possible," Lucy told her over the phone. "I've done some impossible things," Bonnie said. Lucy only laughed and told her to wait and see.

Bonnie strolled along the shaded lane in a small park. Up ahead the corridor of building halls, and beyond that Foothills. A gentle breeze cooled the sweat from her skin. She was aware of her being, and it was an awareness flooded with contentment. The future was bright.

"Bonnie Bennett, is that you?"

Bonnie stopped, turned. The accent alerted her to the speaker, but she was still shocked to see Rebekah sitting on a bench beneath a tree, her sunglasses perched on top of her head. She had an open textbook in her lap, and a tablet beside her. A leather tote sat next to her sandaled feet, full to bursting with papers and pens and, Bonnie frowned, a blood bag?

"Rebekah?"

Before she knew it, Rebekah glided towards her, hand outstretched.

"We've never been formally introduced. I'm Rebekah Michaelson."

Bonnie looked at the hand, kept hers clasped around her books. "I don't know what's going on here, but I left Mystic Falls behind. So leave me alone." Bonnie whirled and started walking, her happiness disappearing into the sudden clouds blocking the sun.

"Wait! Wait, I...I'm like you, you know," Rebekah called, "I wanted to escape and I did. This is not a duplicitous circumstance, I promise you."

Bonnie willed her feet to keep northward but curiosity won out. She stopped for a second time. Rebekah smiled, grabbed her belongings, and hastened to join her. They started walking, silence and askance glances the only communication for several minutes. Bonnie found that all her questions had to do with people she placed in a walled up room. Rebekah seemed at a lost at how to begin again. Bonnie sighed and fished for a question that had nothing to do with anyone else.

"So tell me why this isn't a duplicitous circumstance? And if I find it hard to believe at first, it's because of our relatively brief shared history."

Rebekah tilted her head. "Well...when I awoke again, I had to make a choice. Stay and remain in the same blood soaked gyre that has been my life since, well, since I was born, or leave, take my life into my hands, do something with it. Klaus made it very easy. I had no one, not even Elijah. So I bought a ticket and found myself in California."

"Why college? Why this college?"

"How many times does a girl have to be daggered before Prom and every other dance to get the hint?"

A faint smile worked Bonnie's mouth. "True. But why Berkeley? You seem like a USC or a UCLA kind of girl."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, they seem more your scene."

Rebekah lifted a shoulder. "It is, to say the truth. But..." she hesitated, "I have lived for millennia, I've been that girl for as long as I can remember. The world has changed and so must I."

For some inexplicable reason Bonnie believed her. _I'm like you. _Bonnie could find no common ground between them aside from their past associations and their college of choice, but in the years ahead she would find they were eerily similar.

They approached Foothills. Bonnie stopped before the climb. "When I come back from break, we should do lunch. Take out your phone, I'll give you my number."

They exchanged numbers and goodbyes. Bonnie watched Rebekah cross the street and turn behind a building. For all the strangeness of the encounter, Bonnie treated it as an ordinary coincidence. She felt that it was good, and if it wasn't, well, Bonnie Bennett wasn't the same witch that left Mystic Falls.

* * *

Damon leaned against the Camaro. He listened to the commencement, the speeches, the cheering, the variations of Pomp and Circumstance. He told himself he didn't care, but he listened for each of their names. _Bonnie Bennett_. _Matt Donovan_. _Caroline Forbes_. _Elena Gilbert._ _Tyler Lockwood_. He toed the newly planted turf near the football field. The sun was high and warm enough to do without a jacket. A breeze ruffled his hair into his eyes. In Italy he would cut it at the family barber.

Overlapping voices became distinct. Damon looked up to see a procession of casually dressed parents and graduates in fluttering red robes. He spotted Caroline's blonde head smiling and bobbing, an arm clasped around Tyler's waist. She pulled on someone and there was Elena, holding her cap to her head and her blank diploma to her chest. A brilliant smile outshone the sun. Damon mused on the curve of her cheek and the length and volume of her hair. Her eyes were luminous. He smiled when she laughed at something Caroline said.

His eyes slipped past the scene, following the movement of robes and gold tassels, caught and remained snagged on her face. The smile dropped. Bonnie stood with her father and Matt, watching as Matt received some parental attention and affection. She had a bouquet of wild flowers and grasses. A lavender petal brushed her cheek. Her green eyes were averted, crisscrossing over the crowd. They swept closer and closer to his perimeter. He straightened, took off his shades, held his breath.

"Hey," Elena said. She reached to place a kiss on his lips. Strawberries and cream. Elena stepped back with a hazy grin. Damon grinned as well, and put on the shades.

"You ready to go?"

Elena slanted an eye at him. She peered at the luggage in the backseat. "Go where?"

"Since you've done the impossible and graduated, I thought you should get a gift."

"Haha." Elena smiled and ran around to the passenger side. Damon started the car. Elena swiped the two plane tickets off the dash. He grinned as she squealed, wrapped her arms around his neck, and jostled his sunglasses with her lips. She was talking, her head on his shoulder, as they drove from the football field. Damon heard, but his eyes were on the rear view mirror, on the lingering, smiling form. He listened for her laugh. He took it all the way with him to Italy.


	14. Bonnie Standard Time

A/N: In which Bonnie hops aboard the Magic School Bus. This is quite long, and quite overdue. I must say thank you for the reviews, alerts, and favorites. They are the best payment a fanfic author can hope for. Enjoy.

Holmes, meet Bennett

It only took one phone call, one cracked exhalation of her name to unravel all the progress Bonnie had made.

Bonnie fought her anxiety as she navigated her way to the airport. It was one of those awkward three day weekends in the middle of the year that no one knew what to do with, so everyone either partied, studied, or passed out. No, not everyone. Normal people either partied, studied, or passed out. These people that she had to retrieve from SFO did not function on the same level of reality as everyone else. No, these people decided to fly on a moment's notice across the country to surprise her. For the weekend.

"What the fuck kind of surprise is that?" Bonnie said.

Rebekah highlighted a section of an essay on cognitive dissonance. "A rather inconvenient one, I agree. I imagine seeing them would be slightly less worrying than Elijah appearing on the doorstep, asking for tea and catch-up."

"I don't know. I think I'd rather deal with Elijah."

"Come on," Rebekah closed her laptop. Her nails clicked on the plastic surface. "Matt is coming as well. He should even it out."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Oh, well, it's fine for you since you lust after him, but I'll have to deal with the brunt of Caroline's, well, everything."

She looked over to find Rebekah staring out the window, an odd smile on her face. "Oh my God, Can you do me favor?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you keep your pants dry for the rest of the day at least?"

Rebekah smiled. "I don't know. They're a little damp right now..."

Bonnie groaned.

* * *

The ride back from the airport was loud. Loud from the wind, the radio, and Caroline's voice rising above it all. Bonnie could only nod and laugh a sputtering laugh. She caught Matt's eye in the rear view mirror. It only took a shared raised eyebrow to restring the sympathetic link between them. She listened to Caroline chatter away about the beach, the parties, the golden boys (though no one compared to the Golden Boy, Matt Donovan, of course), the traffic, the food, the fashion (Bonnie, once thought one of the fashionably hopeless, was now on her way to eclipsing Caroline, so a remedy must be made), the sun, the sky, everything her eyes fell upon (except for Rebekah, who was secretly grateful Caroline did not have the power to cut her with a mere look).

"Bonnie," Caroline said suddenly, "I must eat a burger."

"Uh, well," Bonnie began racking her mind. They were fifteen minutes out from the bridge, and there were limited options along her chosen route.

"How about Pickles?"

"No. Taylor's?" Rebekah suggested.

"No, I want a burger. A classic. Something that I can eat and feel like, "Hey, I am in California, eating a burger. I am having a moment of genuine awesomeness." Is there a place that can make that moment possible?"

Matt held up his phone. "In-N-Out?"

They ate on the pavement next to the car. Bonnie could hear the bay between chews. Her strawberry milkshake was sweet and cool and she even consented to dip a fry in it, for Caroline's sake. It was good. She looked down the line, happy for one brief, shining moment, and then she heard his voice, and smelled his cologne, and wished he was here and her burger tasted like sand, but she finished the rest of it, gave her fries to Matt and divvied up the milkshake between Caroline and Rebekah. No one seemed to notice the muted change in Bonnie. Or maybe they did, maybe they saw the way she stood by the trash can for a moment, or heard the far away tone in her voice. No one said anything, and by the time they could, the change had come and gone, and Bonnie was back in the world.

* * *

That night they went back into San Francisco to some exclusive club. Bonnie had made plans to go to a club less upscale and more dance until you die, but Caroline insisted, then demanded, then manipulated her into writing down the names of the group of friends coming to this gathering.

"Tell your friends to ditch the plaid and the Tom's. None of that tonight," Caroline said after hanging up.

"Who was that?" Bonnie asked.

Caroline shot her a coy smile. "My San Francisco contact."

Bonnie was about to question further when Caroline threw open her closet door. "Tell me you have something slinky, short, and sexy."

She did, in fact. A tight, silk, color block dress that earned her a few leers on the street, and several open stares in the gauzy blackness of a cavernous club with chandeliers lining the middle of the ceiling. It was crowded despite their early arrival. Caroline slipped the bartender a black card and pointed to the group next to her. The woman nodded. Seconds later something pink and frothy was in Caroline's hand.

"Taste this," Caroline said.

Bonnie took a sip. It was tart and sweet and minty. "It's great. What is it?"

"Barbire, Sweet looking, but utterly deadly." Caroline said. They grinned over the glass. Bonnie drank one Barbire and felt unsteady. She drank one more and twirled from the bar to the dance floor. She danced with Mihaz, then Matt, then Shana, then she was surrounded by strangers, then she and Rebekah nearly caused a scene with their ass bounce contest, then Caroline swept by her, dancing on some guy. She watched them disappear, a curl of fear at the back of her neck, but that wasn't her responsibility anymore. Bonnie closed her eyes and held her arms out and danced alone.

The music changed into a track with more less of throbbing bass and more of danceable rhythm. People pressed closer, moving with a sort of practiced grace that made her think most of patrons were dancers in their waking life. Everyone clapped along, shuffling, jumping, turning. Bonnie slid into a late seventies slide. She moved her shoulders to the beat, gyrated her hips, let the atmosphere and music sink into her muscles.

It was well into the next morning before they got home, and even then they stayed up playing a dance game. Matt surprised them all with his consistent high scores.

"I think Mihaz has a crush on you," Bonnie said between rounds. Matt grinned his signature mind jumbling grin. "Maybe a martini tinted crush."

She left Matt and Rebekah battling it out. A peal of laughter followed her down the hall and into her room. The room smelled like cloves and cinnamon. Caroline sat by the window, weak sunlight on her face. Bonnie struggled out of her dress and into a t-shirt. She fell into bed with a sigh. Smoke swirled above her head. She took it and made a cloud.

"I didn't know you smoked," Bonnie said.

Caroline put out the cigarette and joined her on the bed. Their heads touched and their eyes followed the wandering cloud.

"Have you eaten? Really eaten?"

"Rebekah gave me some blood bags. I almost told her I'd rather bleed rats dry. Almost."

"She's not that bad."

"You've always been too forgiving."

"Not anymore."

The cloud wandered over to the window. Sunlight passed through the fibrous pearly tendrils. Bonnie blew on her fingers and the cloud dissipated into smoke.

* * *

"We didn't do the one quintessential thing you are supposed to do when you visit California."

"We surfed."

"That's Hawaii."

"Okay, we went on that stupid Hollywood tour."

"Not stupid, informative."

Bonnie picked up a stiff black bag with embossed gold lettering. "You spent an obscene amount of money on Rodeo Drive."

"I re-enacted my _Pretty Woman_ fantasy. Not quintessential. And don't even say what you're going to say," Caroline said, snatching the bag from her.

Bonnie shrugged. "I give up."

"The Santa Monica Pier."

"Are you serious? Rebekah, Matt, and Trent just got back from the Pier. You could have went. They invited you, and I remember you saying something about too many blondes or something."

Caroline stuffed a pair of heels in a carry-on. "Well, it's true. I've had my fill of Rebekah-time. I wanted Bonnie-time. That's why I came out here, because we don't see each other, or talk to each other-"

"That is untrue. We talk at least once a week-"

"-and when we do talk, it's instigated by me. And I'm not complaining," Caroline looked up from packing, "I'm grateful, the most grateful best friend in the history of friendship, but I wish that you would consider maybe coming home winter break. Without your new blonde beastie if that's possible."

Bonnie watched her in silence. Sometimes she thought about returning. A lump of acid would form in her throat and vigorous swallowing was the only way for it to vanish. Despite all the fun they had, it had been hard. Someone was missing, there was a cut-out like hole in their interactions, in their beaching and shopping and still blurry night in L.A. Bonnie was ashamed to say it, so she didn't. Caroline didn't mention it either, which was unlike her.

Caroline passed a brush over her hair and pulled it into a loose updo. "What are we doing tonight? I was thinking something pricey, you know, with three dollar signs next to the name."

Bonnie stood next to her in the mirror. "Close your eyes."

Caroline frowned. "Uh..."

"Just do it. Wait, take your purse."

Caroline went and returned. Bonnie nodded at her in the mirror. Caroline closed her eyes. Bonnie inhaled. The light around them dimmed to nothing but a flicker. Bonnie focused on the flickering light. She reached for it while holding them in place. She pulled them forward. Her breath caught, snagged. She closed her eyes and fell forward, her stomach dropped, and a hot wind rushed about her. And then the rushing turned into waves crashing and the roar of a roller coaster.

Bonnie opened her eyes. Caroline stood beside her, amazed. They stood beneath the archway of the Santa Monica Pier.

* * *

They had an hour to ride the Scrambler as many times as they could. They ate salted caramel ice cream, sweet-talked the chef at a surf shack for the best surf and turf burger they've ever had (they never tasted a surf burger), and strolled the length of the pier, people watching. They sat on the beach and watched the ocean rolling dark waves.

Caroline swept hair from her face. Bonnie breathed in the Pacific breeze. It was slightly cool. She wanted another salted caramel cone, but her stomach could wait. Caroline was too quiet.

"I forgot to tell you how insane that was. The magical transport part."

Bonnie nodded. "Yeah. I discovered it while testing escape measures from horrific dates."

Caroline treated her with a sidelong glance. "You're dating?"

"Yeah. Met a guy actually. We've been on a couple of dates now."

"Well," Caroline said. She stared at the ocean.

Bonnie decided to venture into murky areas. She had three days to observe Caroline, three days to deduce and perfect a rationale, three days to moderate the visible tremors of a heart frightened by being right.

"Matt told me you bought the tickets. And you've paid for everything, including the extravagant Saturday in L.A. that I can barely remember. But I know you don't have a job, and your Mom would never give you carte blanche to use her cards. And you brought Matt, and not Tyler. Things are adding up."

Caroline said nothing. Bonnie continued. "You have always had expensive tastes, but what I've seen these past three days-this is cultured, it's about savoring, about experience."

The waves sounded further than a few yards. Bonnie looked at Caroline. Her blonde hair moved in the wind.

"This is Klaus, isn't it?"

Caroline slumped her shoulders. "I've been ostracized."

Bonnie exhaled. So it was Klaus. She thought there'd be anger of some kind. She wished there was something other than compassion.

"I was supposed to lead him on and instead I end up genuinely liking the guy. Then really liking him. Liking him enough to ask _him_ out, which he found surprising. And when I decided to be honest, I'm the traitor. At least Matt kinda understood." Caroline dug her toes into the sand. "What about you? Any input?"

Bonnie shrugged. "I'm just excited all those repeated viewings of _Sherlock_ finally paid off."

* * *

Something went wrong with the transport. Bonnie looked into the flame, saw her face and Caroline's, but then her cell phone rang and her concentration split. Caroline returned to the Berkeley apartment with a slight headache.

"Bonnie?"

The first sign of dawn cracked through the window. There were sounds from the living room, clinking glasses and soft alternative rock music and the hum of muted voices. Caroline looked around. She was alone in the room.

In Santa Monica, Bonnie dug out her phone. She answered quickly, afraid that she might have sent Caroline anywhere but Berkeley. "Caroline?"

A beat of silence, then, "Bonnie."

The effect was instant. Her entire body flushed. She turned to the ocean. The surf nearly came to her feet. When did she move that close? The sky was a fainter blue with a tinge of pale yellow and orange. She was still awash in deep purple of late night. The ocean surged, crashed, receded. He said her name again. This time it cracked.

"I can hear the ocean. And your breathing. That's one of the things I miss about you. Your breathing. It's completely involuntary, Bonnie. I can't stop thinking...if I were a better person, I wouldn't have let you leave so easily. But you're gone, and I'm here, breathing in your absence."

Bonnie inhaled, her lips parted, words poised to enter reality.

"Don't speak. Hearing your voice once is enough. I've had my allotted time of courage. I'll try not to accrue any more."

He hung up.

Bonnie stared at the ocean. Dawn broke over the line of waves. She marveled at it, at how one simple exhalation of her name spelled destruction.


	15. Save The Wolves

A/N: In which Damon gets a few surprises. Surprise! Update so soon? Shocked? Me too. But when it strikes, it strikes. So readers, this is the longest chapter to date, and it's a total free write. It also creates storyline #2, which will undoubtedly deliver a healthy dollop of angst. I know some of you will be like, "Ugh, Damon is such a tube of dick cream." I agree. But he is a redeemable tube. He can be recycled into something that makes a car function. Or something. I have hope. Enjoy!

Sponsored by PETA*

Stefan moved out the day Elena moved in. Damon stood in his brother's room. He watched Stefan tie rope around bundles of journals and place them in a steam trunk. He watched Stefan fold his clothes and place them in another steam trunk. He watched Stefan place cards on the bookshelf and the desk and the bedframe for the movers to place in storage. He watched Stefan erase himself, and he watched without uttering a single word, without being noticed.

The roadster was loaded down with luggage and boxes. Stefan tied the trunks to the hood. Damon shifted on the pebbled drive. He waited. Stefan shook the trunks, and when he was sure they were secure, he walked towards Damon. He stopped a good ten feet away. Damon was aware of the distance, and the implication.

Stefan looked down at the keys in his palm. He squinted up at the boarding house, his eyes roaming the facade. Something held his eye for a moment. Damon turned to see a curtain of hair twirl and disappear from Stefan's former bedroom window. He turned his eyes on his brother. The past three years had burned the emotion from Stefan's face until all that remained was an impassivity that most vampires craved but few achieved. Damon stared into Stefan's unhooded eyes, at his smooth forehead, at the shifting green of his eyes. This was it. This was all Stefan would show him.

Stefan tossed Damon the keys to the boarding house. They stared at each other for a moment. Damon opened his mouth to say something facetious, but he hadn't spoken to Stefan in six months. He forgot how to talk to his brother when it concerned them, Stefan and Damon Salvatore. He swallowed his words. Stefan gave him a slight nod, got into the Porsche, revved the engine once, and drove away. Damon knew he did not once look back.

* * *

The days stretched into months. Time was fluid for technical immortals. Damon found himself in a period of peaceful debauchery for the first time in his long-ish life. He drank when he wanted, fed when he wanted, tried as many scenes as he wanted, did everything he wanted, with Elena right alongside, matching him drink for drink, neck for neck.

And of course, the sex was near constant. Life was good. Elena brought with her the sun and he basked in it. Were there moments of disquiet? Sure. Damon didn't expect Elena to heal all of his wounds. He expected time to do what she couldn't, time and alcohol. But there were compartments within those moments of disquiet where nothing, not time or Elena or expensive liquor, could mitigate the ache. In these moments within moments, it was so acute it paralyzed him, knocked his breath out.

They were in a club somewhere in New York. The bass thumped, Damon had his head thrown back and Elena's hands roamed over his body. His clothes clung to him due to lavender scented foam. Glitter floated in the air. The sweet warmth of blood filled his mouth. Damon twirled Elena, lifted her so that her legs wrapped around his waist. Her laughing face fell to give him a languid kiss, and then the music started, a plaintive piano, followed by a contralto voice singing a hymn from his brief stint with religion.

It was like lightning struck him. Elena held onto him, yelled his name, but Damon could not hear her or feel her. All he heard was the voice and the piano, and all he felt was this hand around his heart, squeezing. Elena dragged him out of the club and sped them back to the hotel. She placed him in the shower, under the hot spray, until Damon looked at her with some sort of recognition.

"What happened?" she asked.

Damon didn't know. Elena stared at him for several minutes. She took off his clothes, washed the blood and foam and glitter off them both. She led him to the bed and they lay together on soft white sheets. He could feel her staring, but kept his eyes closed.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"These little episodes. What's causing them, what happens."

Damon inhaled. Elena smoothed a hand over his chest. She began to tap a beat when he caught her hand. "Don't do that."

Elena broke the grip to take his chin. They stared at each other.

"Did she used to do that? When you had these episodes?"

Damon moved his chin away. He sat up, swung his legs over the side. The lie sat on his tongue, sweet and warm. He knew she wouldn't test it. It would just be another story they told themselves. Damon saw the future in a sudden flash of insight. He saw himself crushed by stories. He saw Elena's dark eyes following him up and down the boarding house, prodding him apart to find any truth, any realness, any enduring and genuine emotion that belonged to her, that was not foisted on her after the loss of someone profound. Could he lie, knowing the future? Yes, and if it had happened at a time when Damon was less exhausted, then he would lie so prettily, Elena would not doubt again, at least for a few years.

"It was a game we'd play. She tapped the beat and I guessed. I lost more than I won," Damon said. He looked at her. "I never had this happen to me before. Not with anyone."

Elena turned onto her back. "At least you saved something for me. Thanks."

"That's unfair, Elena."

"Is it?" She sat up. "Is it really unfair? It's like I have to be either drunk, horny, in danger, or hungry to get something from you that she never had, that doesn't remind you of her. I can't even touch you without thinking maybe she touched you like that. Or kissed you. Or fucked you." A vein in her forehead pulsed as she spoke. Her fists were clenched in the sheets.

Damon only stared at her. Elena leapt from the bed. The bathroom door cracked as it slammed. She had broken off one of the hinges.

* * *

He set a bottle of black label whiskey and a glass next to the headstone then took a seat. It was midday. The sun burned the back of his next and it was humid and his clothes had absolutely zero circulation but Damon was a fucking vampire. What did he care about hot September day?

"Alaric, you lucky son of a bitch. I wish I were dead. Or wandering around, invisible, laughing at the misery of my shitty friends. Or friend. 'Cause I know I was the only friend you had." Damon pulled out his own bottle and poured himself a glass. He toasted the headstone. "Here's to...nothing."

The burn was smooth and instant. The headstone was smooth and warm. The grass was dry and smelled spicy. These things Damon counted on. They were his only constants now. He started to talk about the politics in Mystic Falls, but it sounded hollow. Alaric didn't care about politics. He had the heart of a midwest housewife-he loved the soap operas, the melodrama, the crescendo and the denouement. Damon forewent the glass and drank from the bottle. He needed to lather up.

"So, get this. Elena enrolled in some college in D.C. She's a college student now. Going to class. Chatting it up with her generation. Swapping ideas, maybe bodily fluids. I don't know. We are still together but it's...it's a fucking wreck. We have fun, don't misunderstand me, we have f-u-n fun, but aren't relationships supposed to be more than weekend-long parties and drinking and hangovers? Aren't there supposed to be quiet moments? Dinners at set tables, sunday evenings watching premium cable before a fire? Lying naked underneath the blanket of the night sky, shit like that?"

Damon tilted his head. "I know. I'm a disgusting romantic. I know. Fact: it's all tied up with wanting to be human. And you know, I thought..." Damon hesitated, "I thought being with Elena would make me human. That she would somehow alleviate the guilt of my vampirism, that I would be able to bear it because she was there."

He took another swallow of whiskey. "Now I don't know anything. You're being devoured by worms, Stefan is off hating me, Elena is off doing what she wants, Bonnie is..." Damon rested his head on the bottle. "I called her the other day. Just to hear her voice. I said something about missing her. I wanted to apologize too, for putting our hearts on chop. I do stupid things when I'm afraid, Alaric. You could testify to that," Damon patted the earth, "if you still had a mouth."

* * *

Every day Damon looked at his phone. Every day he found the number. Every day he thought about hitting the green button. Every single day. He began to do things in between contemplating a ten-digit number. He became involved in his investments. He did the crossword every Sunday. He even practiced restraint by feeding from a bloodbag at least twice a week. There was no need for him to exercise and since Klaus left town and the search of the Golden Fleece of Humanity was on hold due to no witch being powerful enough to roll the stone and strike the sword, he began training the Youth Council on how to kill vampires and hybrids that weren't protected by The Council. He even began to have and honest to God mentor relationship with Jeremy, the star pupil.

The year rolled over. Winter died. Spring came. Damon started renovating the boarding house. Elena helped him when she came home, and for a while it was good. He even limited his phone rumination to a few minutes each day, because he wanted to try. And it was good. So good in fact that when Elena came home one April evening and said she was to study abroad in Italy for the summer, and when he said it was a great idea, he had to go see Vincenz anyway, and she said she'd rather go alone, he was shocked.

"I think we need a break."

"A break? Next you're going to tell me we need a trial separation."

Elena continued polishing an antique picture frame. "I always come back here. I want to know if we can survive me not coming back for an extended period of time. If the reason we're together is loneliness." She looked at him, brown eyes moist. "I love you. I choose you. But even when we're together, we're lonely. And I want to find out if it's me or if it's you."

Damon took the frame out of her hands. He knelt before her. He looked into her eyes. "It's me. I told you. What else do you need to figure out?"

"I know how I feel and what I want. I want you to know it too," she said.

"You're what I want," Damon said. He pulled her close, wrapped his arms around, sunk his nose into silk folds of hair.

She hugged him, but her grip was loose.

Elena left at the end of May. He drove her to the airport. He walked her to the checkpoint and slung the carry on duffle over her smooth shoulder. They stared at each other. She touched his face.

"Do you remember when I told you you could be a better man? And you told me you weren't, that you would never be that man?"

The muscles of his throat constricted. He nodded.

Elena kissed him. When she broke away she said, "I'm going to Italy for you to be that man."

Damon couldn't ask her what she meant. She turned and was suddenly at the head of the line, smiling breezily at the puzzled TSA agents. She walked through the security check and at the top of edge of his vision turned and waved. He held up his hand. Then she was gone and Damon was alone.

* * *

He tucked all the wires into the sockets, covered them with sheet plastic and sat on the couch. He did this for five days. On the sixth day, someone knocked on the front door.

"It's open!"

The door opened, closed. Soft footsteps sounded in the foyer, paused, then came towards the study. Expensive cologne drifted into the open space. Damon knew that scent. He wore it in the 1930s.

He looked up just as an impeccable charcoal suit seated itself in an armchair by the gutted fireplace.

Damon sighed. "I can't think of one thing that I can possibly do for you."

"Neither can I. But I thought since I am in town, I might as well see the state of things," Elijah said. He cast a scrutinizing eye over the room. "You've taken a perfectly decent house and destroyed it. How very Damon of you."

"Klaus isn't here. He's moved on to redder pastures," Damon said.

"Oh, I know. I'm not here to employ you in the task of killing my brother. Not yet, anyway." Elijah gestured towards the tray of brandy. "May I?"

"Help yourself."

Elijah poured himself a finger of brandy with such precision it made Damon angry. He drank it in one swallow. "Very nice. I lied, by the way. I can think of one thing you can possibly do for me."

Damon sat back against the leather sofa. "Of course you can. You wouldn't deign come all the way down here just to drink some very nice brandy and reminisce about the good old days of backstabbing and murder and brother double dates."

Elijah smiled. "Ah, yes. I think it was in that dining room over there where your friend daggered me said back."

Damon grinned. "As I said, the good old days." They drank a glass in silence.

"And now that I'm properly liquored up, what do you want?" Damon asked.

"A simple favor." Elijah tapped the rim of his glass. "I want you to convince Bonnie Bennett to help me obtain the cure."

Damon blinked. He sat forward, frowned, poured another glass, sat back, drank it, passed through various emotions until settling on bewilderment. "Why? Why would you even want it?"

Elijah shrugged. "Why do I do anything? Klaus wants it. He wants to create his hybrid slaves. And in so doing, he heralds the extinction of the werewolves. I want to thwart my brother from his current goal."

Damon stared at him for a full thirty seconds before laughing. "You what? You want to save the wolves? Oh, man. Wow. I mean, PETA power and yeah, animals, but really? That's your line? 'I want to thwart my brother from exterminating the wolves.' Seriously?" Damon rolled to his side, snickering.

Elijah sat patiently for him to quiet down. "You're right. I have no qualms with their extinction. But Bonnie would. Being a witch. They do pride themselves of maintaining balance and order and all that."

Damon nodded. "That is some master class manipulation, right there. Master class, everybody!" He clapped. "The problem with this whole theory, plan, disaster, whatever you want to call it, is the fact that Bonnie has severed all ties and loyalties to this side of the country. She would probably set you on fire the moment she saw you. But hey, see if you can tug on those heartstrings. I believe in you."

Damon stood. "You know the way out." He left the study, shaking his head.

"Damon."

Damon stopped in the foyer. Elijah had one hand in his pocket. The casual stance of a predator. Damon hated being the less powerful being in the room.

"I realize this might place you in an awkward situation. But I know of no one else who can help me. And whatever my intentions, I tell you the truth when I say that my brother will find a way to circumvent the laws of nature to keep Elena human for as long as it takes to turn every last werewolf into a hybrid for him to command. If that means keeping her alive for another hundred years and in whatever condition, so be it."

The hackles were slow to rise, but they rose eventually. Damon knew what had to be done. He also now knew that Klaus had not given up on his quest, and that Jeremy had to go into hiding, and Mystic Falls had to go into ghost recon. He had to find Stefan, and warn him. Or just find him. Stefan had his reasons to want Elena cured, and he teamed up with Klaus once before. Who was to say the deal this time wouldn't be sweeter? Elena was safe regardless. He didn't need to worry about her until the inevitable hail mary play. God, were these situations really so predictable?

No. Predictability died when he kissed Bonnie that first time, and every time after that. There was nothing in the history of language that could convince Bonnie to help. Damon knew this. He knew it like he knew his favorite blood type was O+. Did Elijah know this? Maybe. Unlikely. Would this knowledge keep him in Mystic Falls? Also unlikely.

"Fine," Damon said. "Now get out of my house."

Elijah smiled. "With pleasure."

Damon waited until he was sure Elijah had vacated the premises before placing a call to Jeremy.

"Get over here. Things have changed." He hung up and sat in the desk chair Stefan did not forget to put in storage.

He should be drawing up contingency plan A, B, C, and, because it was the Mystic Fall crew, D. He should be worrying but not worrying. He should be drinking.

Damon put his head back. His thought? He now had a viable excuse to reenter Bonnie Bennett's life.

* * *

*not really sponsored by PETA.


	16. Just a Little Magic

A/N: In which Bonnie gets a birthday present.

* * *

We Can Be Friends

They celebrated her birthday with a small gathering at the house. Bonnie thought small to be less than twenty-five. Rebekah considered small to be in the range of 70 to 100. A quarter to nine, the house was full of people. People eating garlicky shrimp over rice and margarita pizzas and char siu and ginger peanut salad, people drinking craft brews and indie wine, people playing shuttlecock and homemade Trivial Pursuit in the courtyard, people discussing the upcoming mayoral election and the current state of science fiction in the living room. Bonnie's only respite came when Rebekah and Matt left to get the cake. She grabbed a bottle of cheap sparkling wine, a tin of caramel squares, and headed to the roof.

She set the bottle on the ledge facing the Bay, cracked open the tin, and leaned into the dry, warm breeze. There were so many lights, so many colors. Bonnie looked up at the stars. Today she was twenty-one. She wanted to be alone for a few minutes, to come to grips with being a recognized adult, but instead of analyzing her present, she slipped into the past. Old promises came floating through the dark. They were supposed to take a trip to Las Vegas. They were supposed to go to Europe, backpack for the summer. They were supposed to be living together, spending Sundays drinking wine and watching Hallmark movies in their bathrobes. They were supposed to be on this adult journey thing together. Bonnie gazed up at the stars. They blurred into clumps of shimmering blue tinted silver. When Elena turned eighteen, there was a party, a cake, a keg, everything. When Bonnie turned eighteen, there was not one card, balloon, or even a lighted cupcake.

Even now, after everything, Bonnie wanted Elena around. It didn't make any sense.

"Wrong event."

Bonnie jumped, knocking the bottle and the tin over the ledge. There was a blur of movement, then they reappeared on the narrow concrete. Bonnie wiped her eyes.

"Stefan?"

They stared at each other for a moment. Bonnie wasn't sure what to do, Stefan wasn't sure what _she_ would do. When Bonnie moved to hug him, Stefan relaxed. She still felt ridiculously small, but she had the same warmth, still wore the same perfume.

"What are you doing here?" Bonnie asked. She looked him over.

"I've been wandering the west coast for awhile, caught wind of a party being thrown by two wild girls named Beks and Bon," Stefan said. Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"We sound like a clothing line."

"I would shop there. You guys sell jeans?"

Bonnie smiled. "You mean those spandex tights you like like to wear? Yeah."

Stefan laughed. He settled next to her against the ledge. Bonnie studied him. He grew out his hair a little, lost some of the gauntness in his face. She didn't know if that was possible, but hell, her life was one implausibility. He seemed less heavy, more...buoyant. She had never seen Stefan joke, smile, and laugh at the same time. It blew her mind.

"I also remembered it was your birthday."

Stefan took out a small black box with a black bow. He set it next to the tin. "Happy Birthday."

Bonnie picked it up, shook it, gave him a sly smile. "Diamonds?"

"Close."

It was a heavy gold bracelet of Sumerian figures etched on hollow cylinders. The clasp was a sun and crescent moon. A lion dangled from a short chain. Bonnie stared at the bracelet. It caught the tea lights on the roof and the moonlight and the street lamps and reflected it back onto her face as a warm, pale gold light. She felt far away and yet present, but there was a clarity to her mind she hadn't felt in such a long time.

They were both surprised when Bonnie looked to Stefan with tears in her eyes.

"It's an antique my mother collected from one of her adventures in Egypt," Stefan said. He took the bracelet and clasped it around her wrist. "I should tell you that she left it for the eldest son."

Bonnie wiped her eyes. She held up her arm for admiration. "All the better. A stolen gift." She looked at him. "What made you think of me?"

Stefan pointed to the lion. "Witches are supposed to have some sort of artifact of power. What's more potent than a symbol of an ancient goddess of love and war?"

"So you're comparing me to an ancient asskicking Sumerian goddess?"

"You're more than that," Stefan looked away, "you are incomparable, Bonnie."

Bonnie didn't know what to say. A burst of noise came from the roof access stair. "Bonnie! Where is she? Bonnie!" Rebekah appeared a minute later. She stuck her head out and waved. "I have the cake, it's edible decadence, we might have a fire hazard as well so get your ass down here and blow out these sparklers so we can drink and eat cake and take photos." She glanced at Stefan. "You're welcome to stay. I made Bloody Marys." Rebekah ran down the stairs.

Stefan and Bonnie stared at each other.

"She made Bloody Marys," Bonnie said.

"And I can't pass up on a flaming cake of edible decadence," Stefan said.

They left the roof. Bonnie forgot the sparkling wine and the caramel squares. She didn't remember them until next afternoon.

* * *

Stefan spent a week in San Francisco. Bonnie explored the city with him, listening to whatever history he felt like sharing. Sometimes he said nothing at all, and they spent the day in silence, going to art fairs and drinking strange cocktails. Nights she spent studying or going to bars with Rebekah or up on the roof, staring out at the bridge. It felt an awful lot like waiting for someone or something, but Bonnie did it anyway.

One night Stefan called. She muted her favorite episode of _Through the Wormhole _and went up to the roof.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey. I was wondering if you're free."

"I am. What's the plan?"

"A ride and a view."

"Sounds vague. I'm in. Do I meet you somewhere or...?"

"I'm already here."

Bonnie looked over the ledge. Stefan stood next to a motorcycle. He waved. She smiled.

They rode out of San Francisco, over the Golden Gate and into the Marin Headlands. Stefan parked the bike along a small access road. Bonnie eyed the steep hill before them.

"Where are we and what are we doing?"

"We are at the base of Hawk Hill and we are going hiking."

"Can't you just spring us up there?"

Stefan laughed. "No, that will take away the fun."

Bonnie sighed. She followed him up the incline. After a few feet her thighs and calves and lower back began to burn. A fine sheen of sweat broke out over her entire body. "This view better be damn worth it," she grumbled.

"Have I ever led you astray?"

Bonnie chose not to answer. Stefan reached the top first. Bonnie took his extended hand and let him pull her the final three steps. She looked out. They were high and it was breezy and cool. She saw the neighborhood below, then the dark surface of the Pacific. Still holding on to Stefan's hand, she turned to see the Golden Gate, lit up, and then the lights of downtown San Francisco.

"It's really pretty up here," Bonnie said.

"The last time I came up here, there was no bridge, no lights, nothing. Just darkness and the sound of the ocean and the wind. It was peaceful," Stefan sat facing the Pacific. Bonnie sat facing the bridge. After a moment, she leaned back against him.

"There was a lot more bird shirt, too."

Bonnie laughed. They sat there, quiet. She began thinking as her awareness of his body started seeping into her thoughts. She thought about the view, and about the ride, about how wonderful it was, and how lucky she was to know someone who liked her well enough to take his retro motorcycle out of storage and treat her to a night ride to a place she had never been. She thought about all the dates she's had since coming to Berkeley, and even though this wasn't a date per se, it was the best one. She thought about the bracelet on her arm, the constant warmth it gave off. She thought about the feel of his hand grasping hers, the second of weightlessness she felt as he pulled her up, the shift of his eyes as he looked away. She thought of Mystic Falls and how she viewed him then, in that place at that time.

"I liked you better," Bonnie said.

Stefan stirred. "Hm?"

"I preferred your face, actually. You have these eyes. I can't tell if they are brown or green or hazel. I liked how serious you were. Your face had gravity. I looked at you and felt...weight. And when the superficial phase ended, I liked you because you loved her. And then I liked you because you didn't let that define you, you didn't let her consume you. You had snark, you were funny, you made tough calls that weren't always centered on your love for her."

Bonnie exhaled. Her mind was churning. She had so much to say suddenly. Stefan was silent. Bonnie rushed on.

"I never once thought about you in a more-than-platonic light, though. That's the problem with me. I never think of these guys at all, and suddenly I am in love. Suddenly my heart becomes metaphorical. Not saying I am in love with you. I like you. My heart likes you. It's just," Bonnie shrugged, "maybe I should have waited, as time folds out more or less the same way. Maybe I should have thought of you with hope and this would be easy. But I didn't wait. I didn't hope. I fell hard and I'm fucked up from it. Still."

When the silence stretched beyond acceptable limits, Bonnie shifted to sit beside him. She squinted, and a flash of lightning appeared in the distance. Stefan gave her a sidelong glance.

"Very nice."

Bonnie shrugged. "Just a little magic."

He leaned forward onto his knees and sighed. "I won't lie. My feelings towards you have not been platonic as of late, but they will settle, and we can have that kind of friendship where we can be honest with each other, where you can say what you want and I'll listen." Stefan grinned. "I'm good at listening."

Bonnie drew her knees up. The ocean crashed below. The lightning precipitated a storm. She judged that they had half an hour before being washed out.

"We can start now."

Bonnie frowned. "What?"

"The honesty thing. Because I've been trying to find a way to broach the Matt, Rebekah question..."

"Well?" Stefan asked once their laughter mellowed.

"Well...I think they started dating ever since Matt moved here. I don't ask them about it," Bonnie breathed in the salt breeze, "I think it's a good thing. She remembers who she was."

"Love does that," Stefan paused. Bonnie glanced at him. His face hardened as lightning ripped across the sky.

"It also makes you forgetful."

They stared at the approaching storm.


End file.
